The Last Line-The Aurora Blades- Next Gen Book2

Liv Monroe

I am one stupid woman.

Yes. I’m saying I’m stupid.

And I’m being completely honest.

I should have never kissed Carter Henderson.

And I definitely should have never agreed to get our shit out of our systems.

But what did I do?

I went to his house that night, and we screwed each other senseless.

Then I left.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And now here I am.

Scared shitless about my feelings.

Guess I should start from the first moment I met him.

He pissed me off.

Basically said that since I was a girl, I couldn’t handle a damn drill.

Then we raced.

On a track I knew well, but he was so fucking cocky.

Pissing him off became a game.

And fuck, it felt good.

But somewhere along the way, that game had me developing these fucking tingly feelings.

For Carter fucking Henderson.

See?

One stupid woman.

We had celebrated the Blades’ preseason win last night.

And I was currently nursing a major fucking hangover.

I hadn’t done that in so long.

But Carter Henderson pissed me off after the game.

So, naturally, I ran my damn mouth.

Got myself into trouble.

Then proceeded to challenge him to a goalie-off.

I shook my head thinking about it, which only made my head hurt worse.

I groaned and laid back down.

Damn it.

Why the fuck did I think trying to outdrink a professional hockey player was smart?

Especially Carter Henderson.

The asshole never knew when to quit.

Then again...

Neither did I.

My phone buzzed against my bedside table.

Who the hell was texting me?

I felt around for it, keeping my forearm over my eyes.

When I finally grabbed it, I pulled it toward me and squinted at the screen.

My eyes went wide as I read the text.

No fucking way.

How the hell did he get my number?

Carter: You want to show me you can beat me at my job?

I stared at the screen.

This fucking man.

I should ignore him.

That would be the smart thing to do.

Roll over.

Go back to sleep.

Pretend Carter Henderson didn’t exist.

My fingers were already moving.

Of fucking course they were.

Me: Name the time and place, pussy.

I instantly regretted that text.

Why did I type that?

Oh yeah.

Because I knew it’d rile his ass up.

And apparently, even half-dead from a hangover, pissing off Carter Henderson was still one of my favorite hobbies.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

Of course it did.

I peeked at the screen.

Carter: You sure talk a lot of shit for someone who hasn’t even put skates on yet.

I scoffed.

Asshole.

Me: Scared?

The little dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then appeared again.

I grinned.

Got him.

Carter: Blades practice rink. One hour.

My grin disappeared.

One hour?

I slowly lowered my phone.

Then looked down at myself.

I was still wearing the shirt I’d worn last night.

My mouth tasted like death.

My head was pounding.

And I was pretty fucking sure there was still tequila running through my bloodstream.

My phone buzzed again.

Carter: Unless you’re backing out.

I sat straight up.

Immediately regretted it when the entire room tilted.

“Fuck.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Nope.

Didn’t matter.

I could throw up on his fucking skates if I had to.

I wasn’t backing out.

I got up and showered.

Brushed my teeth.

Took some medicine.

Then proceeded to try every hangover remedy I knew.

Water.

Food.

More water.

And a silent prayer that my head would stop fucking pounding.

I glanced at the clock.

Shit.

I had to leave soon.

At least I was feeling better.

Thankfully, the shower had helped wake me up some.

I pulled on a pair of leggings and a hoodie, then tied my hair up.

My phone sat on the bed.

I stared at it.

This was fucking stupid.

I didn’t even play hockey.

Sure, I could skate.

And I’d watched enough hockey over the years to know what I was doing.

But Carter did this for a living.

I grabbed my phone.

Didn’t fucking matter.

He challenged me.

And I was going to make his cocky ass regret it.

The rink was empty.

There were a few cars in the parking lot, but I spotted Carter’s truck instantly.

And there he was.

Leaning against it.

I groaned.

Why the fuck am I doing this?

My internal bitchy voice immediately answered.

Because you love making him mad. It excites you.

I wanted to flip her off.

Instead, I parked.

Carter pushed away from his truck as I climbed out.

And the asshole smiled.

Not a tired smile.

Not a hungover smile.

A perfectly fucking normal Carter Henderson smile.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

There was no way.

“You look like shit, Livey.”

And there he was.

The pain in my fucking ass.

“And you suck,” I said, my tone bored.

He chuckled.

“Ready for me to kick your ass?”

I glared at him. “Are you ready to eat your words, Henderson?”

He stepped closer.

Right into my fucking space.

Those sharp, icy blue eyes darkened as he glared down at me.

Oh my God.

His eyes.

They were gorgeous.

I shoved a hand against his chest, forcing him out of my face.

Because if he kept that shit up, I might kiss him.

My eyes widened.

What the fuck?

No.

I fucking didn’t.

I did not just think about kissing Carter Henderson.

Absolutely fucking not.

My internal bitchy voice laughed.

Oh, you’re so fucked.

Fuck off.

“Let’s go, Livey,” he sang out.

I wanted to punch him.

Maybe kiss him.

God damn it.

Fucking stop it.

Told you that you were fucked.

I think I needed a mental hospital.

I had two voices in my head fighting each other.

I was fucking crazy.

That was the conclusion I’d come to.

“Are you still hungover, Livey?”

He looked fucking smug.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“No.”

His brow lifted.

Fucking asshole.

“You look hungover.”

“And you look ugly. Guess we’re both struggling today.”

His lips twitched.

I hated that fucking twitch.

Mostly because my stupid eyes dropped to his mouth.

There you go again.

I swear to God, I will find a way to kill you.

I’m literally you.

Well.

That complicated things.

“Stop stalling and let’s go.”

He grinned. “I’ll have to help you into your goalie gear.”

I closed my eyes and prayed.

Please don’t let me kill him.

Actually, let me.

You would be bored.

I was starting to hate this voice.

I blamed the hangover.

I shrugged. “Fucking let’s go.”

“Ladies first.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Fuck him.

You’d like to.

My eyes snapped open.

Oh, fuck all the way off.

Carter glanced back at me.

“You coming, Livey?”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed as he headed toward the rink.

I followed him.

Mostly because I had an ass to kick.

And definitely not because my eyes had just dropped to his.

Liar.

This was going to be a long fucking day.

Carter led me into the locker room where he’d apparently already gathered everything I needed.

I stared at the pile of equipment.

“What the fuck is all that?”

“Your goalie gear.”

“All of it?”

He laughed. “Having second thoughts, Livey?”

I glared at him.

“Put the shit on me.”

His brow lifted.

Then that stupid fucking grin appeared.

“Careful what you ask for.”

My internal voice perked right the fuck up.

Oh, this should be fun.

Don’t fucking start.

Carter grabbed one of the pads.

“Come here.”

“I am here.”

“Closer, pain in my ass.”

“You’re the pain in my ass.”

“And yet you came when I texted.”

Fuck.

He had me there.

I stepped closer.

“Just put the damn thing on.”

He crouched in front of me and started working on the straps.

I looked down.

Big fucking mistake.

Because Carter Henderson was kneeling in front of me.

And suddenly I was noticing things I had absolutely no business noticing.

Like his hands.

Why the fuck was I looking at his hands?

Because they’re nice hands.

Shut up.

“You good?”

My eyes snapped to his.

Those damn blue eyes were staring up at me.

“Perfect.”

His mouth twitched.

“You look nervous.”

“I look hungover.”

“You look nervous.”

I flicked him in the forehead.

“Ow.” He laughed.

“Keep working.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He finished with the first pad before moving to the other.

Then came the rest of the gear.

Which apparently required Carter to be in my personal space approximately four hundred fucking times.

At one point, his fingers brushed my side while he adjusted something.

My entire body went still.

So did his.

Our eyes met.

For one weird second, neither of us said anything.

Oh.

No.

There was no oh.

Carter cleared his throat and stepped back.

“Almost done.”

“Thank fuck.”

Because apparently I couldn’t be trusted around him anymore.

Thirty minutes later, I was strapped into a damn goalie outfit.

Do they seriously wear this much shit?

Carter was grinning.

“Oh, you can barely move. This is going to be great.”

That focused my ass right up.

You think I can’t move, Henderson?

Just you fucking wait.