Page 181 of Fighting Chance

Irving sighs contentedly. “Fuck, she was beautiful.”

Ellington smirks. “Must say, was totally worth kissing this piece of shit to be with her.”

“I am not a piece of shit.”

“You’ve pulled more pranks than goals.”

Irving’s eyes widen. “I fucking have not!”

Johnson whips out his phone. “I can pull up stats of both.”

“Oh, I’m fucking sat for this conversation,” Lewis snorts.

The chatter and banter of the table drown out as my phone vibrates in my hands. I’m ashamed to admit how quickly I pick it up, my heart skipping a beat the second I see Layla’s contact flash across my screen.

MY FUTURE WIFE

*photo attachment*

have one very proud IceHawks cheerleader over here

Biting the inside of my cheek to stop the smile that wants to spread free, I open the photo and immediately download it. It’s a selfie, Layla holding the phone out withEmmy sitting next to her, nestled in bed, her dimples on full display as she beams up at the camera.

Both of them are wearing my jersey.

My girls.

My fucking girls.

My heart aches.

Suddenly, I feel wrong. I’m not in the right city, not in the right state, not in the right place. I should be home, with them.

The ache is a persistent, bone-deep craving that I know I need to answer.

It could be the alcohol coursing through my veins or it could be that it’s been three weeks since I’ve been able to touch Layla but suddenly everything feels wrong and I know there’s only one thing to do to make it right.

I stand, the table falling quiet at my sudden movement. “I’m out. See you guys back in Colorado.”

Valenti only smirks. “See you later, Ashford.”

I don’t stick around to explain anything. I can hear the mumbled questions, but I don’t care.

Pulling out my phone, I order an Uber, and then a flight.

Chapter 40

Layla

BOOKISH BITCHES

CINDY

I’m sorry but that was the worst thing I’ve ever read

LAYLA

BELLA