Page 32 of Secret Obsession
She smiles, but it’s tight. She’s concerned, and she has every right to be. I am, too. I get up to my apartment and lock my door, then go hunting for my laptop. To delete a post I didn’t even make, with screenshots that somehow came from me… but didn’t.
Which would be fine, if my laptop was here.
But it isn’t.
And, with a sick sense of dread, I have a feeling there’s exactly one person who would’ve broken in and taken it.
11
MILES
“She needs to learn her place,” Amanda hisses to her friends. She’s holding court, or so it would seem, in the seats just above the players’ entrance to the rink.
“Shouldn’t you have left Crown Point by now?” I ask her, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, thirty?”
Her lip curls. “I’ll have you know—”
“I don’t care,” I say flatly. “In fact, maybe Willow did you a favor. You can now get with more of the hockey team without fear of them misinterpreting your intentions. Except your one true love, Steele O’Brien. He’s faithful to his girl.”
Her friends are stifling their giggles—which is making matters worse in Amanda’s fucked-up little head. Her face is getting redder and redder, and I quickly move past her. If she explodes, I don’t want that sort of cleanup again.
One murder is enough, thanks.
Too soon?
I slip my mouth guard in and tip my head back, shaking my hair out of my face for my helmet. Once it’s in place, I skate onto the ice. I’m one of the last ones out. Even the other goalie is already here, warming up before practice.
My mind is halfway here, but I’m hoping instincts and reflexes will kick in to make up for it. I’ve got all the blockers up on Willow’s phone in preparation for her to try and salvage her Amanda situation. Her laptop is in my hockey bag, which is safe and sound in the locker room.
I skate forward and slap my stick against Knox’s. He grins at me, following me toward the goal. Half of our guys are off to the sides, stretching, and I should join them. But first, I mark up the crease, digging my skates in to give me better traction.
Focus, I order myself.
Like I ever listen to orders.
Greyson eyes me, smirking, and skates past in a flash. I grin back. He’s a mastermind when it comes to thinking up ways to fuck with people—and Steele, too. Although Steele is now off to the side, stretching, he catches my eye and nods.
They’re all with me.
Setting Amanda against Willow is simply business. Because Amanda has a big mouth, and she’ll manipulate everyone in her circle. Now that Violet and Willow aren’t on the dance team, that’s Amanda’s domain. And who knows how far she reaches otherwise. Last I heard, she oversaw the fan bus to all the sporting events off campus.
She’s got power on campus. No one can deny that.
Coach skates out onto the ice and blows his whistle. I switch places with the other goalie and drift up toward the neutral zone in the center of the rink. I take my time warming up until Coach divides us, each goalie taking our position in the goal. He explains the drills he wants each side to run, which every player will cycle through twice, then we’ll switch.
I get into position, flexing my fingers on my stick. Once I’m in the crease, I’m in the zone. I can’t explain it—it’s like everything else falls away. Just me and the opponent and the puck.
Greyson charges first, with Steele beside him. He passes quick to Steele, who glides forward and slings the puck at the goal. It comes high, and I easily catch it and toss it away. Another two players are already coming forward, this time a freshman and sophomore. Their movements are just a touch more hesitant, slower. Pass, shoot.
This drill is clearly meant to drive the hesitancyoutof our players. So they don’t freeze when they get the puck in a game.
I block their shot with my stick. Another with my pads. I get into it until Greyson comes back around, this time with Knox. Knox passes to Greyson, who fakes a shot—and I fucking fall for it. He slips the puck between my legs and blows a kiss at me.
I flip him off from inside my glove—not that he can tell.
Makes me feel marginally better, though.
I’m sweating by the time Coach blows the whistle.
