If You Dare: A Hockey Bully Romance
If You Dare: Chapter 9

Violet

A month into the semester, Chloe and I already have a routine. She wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to train, and we meet up for lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays when our schedules align. In the afternoons, she attends class, and in the evenings, she studies and watches Netflix on her phone or her laptop before bed while I read. Despite being one of the coolest, funniest girls I’ve ever met, the only friend she seems to have is me. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t said anything about me not having any other friends either.

“You should write a book,” she says.

I’m halfway through the one I’m currently reading—a romantic fantasy—and I had no idea this one was explicit. I blush when I get to the first use of cock.

“I’ve always wanted to write one,” I admit.

“So why haven’t you?” Chloe sits up to face me.

Even though I call myself a writer and I’m in college to get a creative writing degree, I’ve always told myself that writing books is something I would do as an adult when I finally had stories to tell. Someday, somehow, I’d wake up and know that this was the time to write a book and become an author.

Plus, the thought of sitting down to write a whole book is so daunting. I’ve always let the fear stop me. The fear that I won’t come up with any ideas that are worthy of a book. The fear that I’ve spent my whole life loving books and dreaming about being an author, but when I finally put words on the page, I’ll realize that I’m no good at this and I’ll need to let go of the dream I’ve held onto my entire life. The fear that only the people who have lived a life worth writing about can write a book worth reading.

“I’m too boring to write a book,” I tell Chloe.

She sits up and swings her legs over the bed. “That’s nothing we can’t fix. Let’s start with tonight. Go with me to the hockey game.”

“What?” My heart flutters in my chest at the thought of seeing Wes. “No. I hate sports.”

“Come on. I dare you.”

I laugh. “What are we, twelve?”

“You’re never too old for a game of Dare.” She closes the distance between us and squeezes my arm, puffing out her bottom lip. “Please, Violet? This is how you’ll get inspiration for your novel. Think of how much story material you’ll get by doing things you never would’ve done otherwise.”

“Fine. Then I dare you to . . . flash someone. At the game.” Surely that will get her to change her mind about playing Dare. This could get ugly.

She shrugs. “Deal.”

I sit up, snapping my book shut. “What do you mean deal? You’re going to flash someone?”

She grins. “If that’s what will help you write your book, I’ll flash the whole rink.”

“Chloe, I love you, but I hate sports,” I repeat. We’re already searching the bleachers for the best seats, Chloe ignoring my protests the entire way as she pulls me behind her.

Sure, butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought of watching Wes fly across the ice, of being near him. But another part of me knows being around him will only cause me more pain, wanting him and knowing I’ll never have him.

When he said I should focus on finding a nerd in the library, the words were a sucker punch. I know I’m not good enough for a guy like Wes, but I didn’t expect him to confirm it out loud.

That’s how he sees me. Some forgettable nerd. Nothing at all like the fun, wild girls he’s used to sleeping with.

“You can’t go to Diamond and not go to the hockey games.” Chloe nods to the bleachers above us. “That’s our guy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The scrawny guy with the glasses. That’s the guy I’m going to flash when we score.”

I laugh. “That would make his day.”

She leads me by the hand. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. You’re not seriously going to flash him, are you?” I whisper.

“You dared me to. I don’t back down from a dare.” She peers at me over her shoulder, blue eyes mischievous. “Do you?”

I can’t remember the last time anyone dared me to do anything. Maybe on the playground in fourth grade. But now, I don’t want to back down from a dare either.

Chloe takes a seat right next to the guy with glasses and I sit beside her. She grins brightly at him and asks if he’s excited about the game. I cover my mouth to suppress the giggle.

Once the game starts, Chloe attempts to explain everything to me, but most of it goes over my head. Apparently, Wes plays center, whatever that means. All I know is to watch for number three to dart by in the red and black jersey. Every time he does, my heart skips.

The whole game, I barely know what’s going on, but Chloe’s chants and jeers get me invested. The puck sails across the ice, followed shortly by the players. Insults are hurled, punches thrown, and whistles blown nearly nonstop. Maybe I like hockey after all.

Wes beelines for the edge of the rink, but a member of the opposing team cuts him off. They slam into the wall together and I flinch.

The rival rips off Wes’s helmet, but before his fist can connect with Wes’s nose, Wes bulldozes into him and knocks him down onto the ice.

I gasp, heart in my throat like I’m in the rink with them, waiting for a referee to tear them apart and send them both to the bench. But Wes simply slips his helmet back on and his rival returns to his feet, both of them rejoining the others darting back and forth across the ice.

“What the hell? They’re just allowed to keep playing?” I shout to Chloe.

“Hockey is, like, sixty percent playing, forty percent fighting.”

When our team scores the winning goal, Chloe jumps from her seat and yanks up her shirt in front of the guy beside her. His eyes practically bug out of his head, and Chloe and I burst into a fit of giggles.

“Oh my god!” I squeal. “I can’t believe you did that!”

His face is bright red, but a tiny, shocked smile plays on his lips.

I’ll never be as fun and bold as Chloe, but every part of me longs to try.

When she and I finally manage to pull ourselves together, she leads me down the bleachers. “Let’s stick around with the puck bunnies to congratulate the guys. Especially Luke.”

I don’t bother asking what a puck bunny is. “When are you finally going to ask him out?”

“When you dare me to,” she says simply before clutching my arm. “But please don’t dare me to do it right now because I don’t want to get rejected in front of the whole team.”

“He would never reject you.” I’m amazed she could even think that’s a possibility. In just one month, Chloe has become my new favorite person. She’s funny and lively and bubbly. I’m sure half the guys on this campus fantasize about dating her, Luke included.

Chloe beams at me, squeezing my hand. “Have I ever told you you’re the best friend I’ve ever had?”

I mirror her grin. “You’re mine too.”

Once most of the crowd has disappeared from the stadium, we’re the only ones left with a group of girls I assume must be the puck bunnies. They giggle and waggle their fingers at the players still on the ice until the guys skate over.

Wes is the only one who approaches us when he leaves the ice. Chloe’s enthusiasm falters a little when Luke stays behind, chatting with their coach.

The instant Wes takes off his helmet, all the air leaves my lungs. His magnetic blue eyes land right on me.

I’m enchanted by the sweat dripping from his inky hair, and the huge, dazzling smile that seems to shine just for me.

“Great game!” Chloe says.

But Wes doesn’t take his eyes off me. “What did you think, Violet?”

My stomach flips every time he says my name. “Yeah. Great game.”

Jesus. I literally can’t come up with an original thought.

“You into hockey?” he asks.

I am now. “A new fan,” I manage.

His grin widens.

Holy shit. Maybe I was wrong about Wes. Maybe I haven’t been imagining the way his eyes light up when they spot me or the way he seems drawn to me like a moth to flame. Like I am to him.

“Hey, we should—” Chloe starts.

Before she can finish, a redhead breaks free of the group of puck bunnies to cling onto Wes’s enormous bicep. “Oh my gosh, Wes! You did amazing. I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole game.”

She’s beautiful and curvy, and I instantly shrivel, knowing there’s no way I can compete with a girl like her.

Wes turns his whole body to face her, smiling flirtatiously, and my stomach drops. Chloe and I are forgotten.

Of course. I’ve known since I met him that Wes is out of my league, but I still keep trying to convince myself that maybe I’ve somehow stepped into an alternate dimension in which a guy like Wes could fall for a girl like me.

Chloe loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go. Luke’s busy.”

For a split second, I almost wish she wasn’t my roommate. Wish that being friends with Chloe didn’t mean being forced to be around her brother.

I’ve never been in love before, and I know I’m not now. I barely know Wes. This is just a crush, nothing more.

But there’s a reason it’s called a crush and not something nicer. Because falling for someone you know will never want you back is crushing.

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