2. Bristol

Chapter 2

Bristol

Nothing but farmland extended before me as far as the eye could see as I drove straight through the heart of the Midwest. A twelve-hour solo road trip was far too long to be left alone with my thoughts—especially the ones about why I was relocating from Hartford, Connecticut, to Indianapolis, Indiana.

I'd made a mistake. I knew that. I had broken the rules and gotten attached. And now I was running away from that painful past.

For the better part of the last three years, I'd been dating Levi Nixon, forward for the Connecticut Comets hockey team. It wasn't the healthiest relationship I'd ever been a part of, but I'd had my blinders on and refused to acknowledge the red flags that he waved around like a damn bullfighter.

Nix, as I called him, had insisted on an open relationship. He'd explained that I was too young to be tied down and he didn't want me to be lonely when he traveled with the team. I ate that shit up, thinking he cared about me, giving me the time and space to spread my wings while finishing college. When in reality, he was fucking anything with legs because he literally couldn't keep it in his pants while I didn't date—or sleep—with any other man but him.

I'd always known there were other women—I would have been a fool not to—but I'd convinced myself that if I was overly accommodating that, eventually, he would see that I was the devoted woman he needed by his side as he navigated the ups and downs of his professional career.

That day never came.

Instead, I'd grown tired of waiting for him and taken matters into my own hands.

A few months ago, I told him I was old enough to know what I wanted for my life and that he was it. I wasn't asking for a ring or anything, but I wanted to be the only woman he was seeing.

I'd asked Nix for exclusivity, and he dropped me like a hot potato.

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. But I‘d been blinded by the off-the-charts hot sex we had when he did call me up to come over.

He might have been an asshole, but Nix knew how to fuck.

Yeah, probably because he was banging his way through North America.

Sighing, I focused on the highway, hoping the monotonous landscape would allow my mind to veg out and shut off for a while.

But apparently, even that was too much to ask.

My path to Nix could be traced back to a single day—the day my dad took me to my first-ever hockey game.

When I was ten, Dad finally splurged on season tickets for the Connecticut Comets, our hometown team. That meant he had two seats at every home game they played in Hartford.

Most of the time, he would take old buddies from high school or coworkers, but one night, he didn't have anyone to fill that second seat and Mom suggested he take me along .

I grew up as the only child of a sports-obsessed man, knowing that there was a small piece of him that wished I'd been born a boy. I was sure he'd had big dreams of sharing moments at games with a son instead of a girly girl who loved pretending to be a fashionista.

But he took me to that game anyway, and it sealed my fate.

Dad went all out, buying me a Comets jersey and every snack imaginable once we entered the arena. When we got to our seats, he urged me to take the steps down to the glass, where other kids were huddled holding signs up as the players took the ice for what he explained was their warm-up.

With my nose pressed against the glass, I stared in awe at the giant men gliding across the slick surface like it was no big deal, like it was as easy as walking. I was mesmerized. It was beautiful, like poetry in motion.

Then, one of the players approached the congregated kids and they all began screaming, begging for a puck, a stick, or a selfie. Honestly, they wanted anything that the player was willing to give.

I will never forget how his whiskey-colored eyes locked on mine. He pointed at me with a gloved hand before flipping a puck over the glass and into my hands. Shocked that he'd singled me out—a girl, no less—I stared down at the black rubber disc before peeking back at him. Long black hair fell across his forehead without a helmet on, and a crooked smile curved on his lips before he winked at me and skated off.

That player turned out to be a twenty-year-old Jaxon Slate, the very young, fresh-faced captain of the Comets, who was expected to be the franchise's salvation after a decade of losing records. And instantly, he became my first-ever crush.

From that day forward, dark-haired hockey boys were it for me.

I begged my dad to take me to more games, wanting to learn everything about the sport. Dad soaked it in, glad to have a partner to share his obsession with .

Jaxon might have been my first player crush—and the one I held onto the longest, pining for him from the ages of ten to sixteen—but he wasn't the last. Grudgingly, I had to admit to myself that Jaxon was too old for me, and as soon as my boobs came in, I began trolling the local rinks during high school hockey games.

I wasn't the only amateur puck bunny in attendance, but I had a leg up on most of my competition. Not only did I know the sport inside and out and could talk hockey with the boys, but I had a secret weapon—red hair. I stood out in the crowd, catching the eye of players from where I stood along the glass during games. Nothing beat hearing the rumbles between them, wondering who the cute redhead was.

High school brought me a few hockey boyfriends, but nothing serious. Then came college, where I decided to stay local and attend Connecticut Central. They didn't have the best hockey team in the area, so I often hopped over to Hartford State, where they had a kickass team, and I dated a few guys who played there.

Still attending Comets games with Dad as often as I could, I caught the eye of Nix during warm-ups one day. I knew I was too old for it, but I still found myself pressed against the glass with the kids. It was habit by that point.

Nix saw me standing there—my red hair acting like a beacon as it always did—and skated toward the glass. With a grin, he breathed on the clear surface, creating a foggy patch before removing a glove and writing his phone number through it with a finger. Stunned, I stared as he winked, giving me a call me gesture, and skated off.

That was the start of it all.

I thought I'd done it, snagged a professional player, and I was only twenty then .

By that point, my first crush, Jaxon, had settled down and was happily married with kids, and I watched on with a new longing. He and his beautiful wife, Natalie, along with their children, became the first family of hockey, practically American hockey royalty. I coveted their life, their love.

In an ultimate twist of irony, I found myself closer to that family than I could have ever imagined. My best friend and college roommate, Dakota, was currently the live-in girlfriend of Braxton Slate, Jaxon's younger brother. As luck would have it, Braxton was the spitting image of his older brother, so my bestie was dating a version of the man I'd crushed on for most of my adolescent years.

The best part? She hated athletes.

I loved Dakota with my whole heart; she was the sister I never had—we were that for each other, both of us being only children. But I couldn't help but lament the role reversal we'd found ourselves in. She was dating the up-and-coming hockey star, and I was the one swearing off athletes.

That's right. I was done with hockey boys.

Well, at least when it came to dating them. I couldn't give them up altogether, as I'd spent the summer landing the job that had me moving to Indy.

With a degree in journalism, specializing in sports media, I was the newest member of the traveling press pack for the Indianapolis Speed hockey team, reporting for the Indy Sports Review. It was hard enough for women to make a name in sports journalism—a primarily male-dominated field—so I couldn't afford to ruin my credibility by sleeping with a player, even if I wasn't nursing a broken heart from the last one.

Indy might seem like an odd choice of location, considering I grew up mere hours away from the media capital of the world, New York City, but I was just starting out in my career. Until I was more established, I couldn't afford to be picky about job offers. A spot in the permanent press pack was a big deal, especially for a woman, so I'd have been a fool to turn it down, regardless of the city.

It also didn't hurt that Dakota had moved out there a year ago after Braxton was traded from the Comets to the Speed. There would be a friendly face at home and on the road as I gained my bearings. It made my decision to accept the job a no-brainer.

I was determined to get a fresh start and focus on myself for once.

As I pulled up to the two-bedroom ranch I'd chosen to rent after doing a video tour with a realtor, a smile tugged at my lips when I saw Dakota and Braxton waiting on the front porch.

Dakota spotted my car first, jumping up and running to the curb as I parked. I didn't even have a chance to grip the door handle before she flung it open from the outside.

"I can't believe you live here now!" She pulled me into a hug so tight it threatened to crack a rib.

When she let me go, I took a deep breath before teasing, "Well . . . A little birdie told me some famous author lives in these parts, and I'm hoping I can run into her at the local coffee shop. Maybe teach her a few things about her next hockey romance. Accuracy is paramount, you know."

Dakota laughed. That author was her.

While I'd ventured into journalism, she had chosen the path of fiction. And not just any fiction—steamy, sexy books that always ended with a couple who were head-over-heels in love. My bestie knew how to write word porn, and I was so damn proud of her. It didn't hurt that I was the one who suggested she venture into sports romance—hockey in particular—and that the book she wrote as a result became her first bestseller. It was also what led her to Braxton. Me dragging her to a hockey house party for "research" was how she met him. He happened to be Nix's roommate at the time.

Joking right back, Dakota mused, "Hmm, maybe my next one will be about the reporter falling for someone on the team."

I groaned. "Not going to happen."

"I feel like I've heard something along those lines before." She tapped her chin, pretending to think. "I'll never fall for an athlete. They're the scum of the earth . . ." That was a subtle reference to her prior opinions on dating a player.

Heaving out a sigh, I grumbled, "Maybe you were onto something."

Dakota lifted a shoulder. "I think we both know how wrong I was. Hannah might have been onto something when she said Nix was your starter player . They're not all bad. Took me far too long to realize it."

I folded my arms over my chest. "You're right. They're not all bad. But most times, they're not looking for a commitment, and it's not worth messing up my position adjacent to the team."

She held her hands up in surrender. "Okay. You win. Bristol is swapping out her bunny ears for pencil skirts and unbiased reporting. Got it."

If there was anyone who could pull me out of this post-breakup funk, it was Dakota. The past year spent without her had been rough, and maybe that was why I pressed for more than Nix was ever willing to give. Because I was lonely. Before she moved to Indy, I had a companion on nights Nix was busy—or with another woman. Then suddenly, it was just me in our rental house, and too much time alone with my thoughts turned out to be dangerous .

Braxton rounded my trunk, and I stepped into his arms for a hug. He smiled down at me when we separated. "Welcome to the Speed, Miss Cooper."

Rolling my eyes, I batted at his shoulder. "Oh, God. Don't call me that. Makes me feel like I'm thirty-five instead of twenty-three. And you can tell the rest of your teammates I expect to be on a first-name basis."

He gave me a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're ridiculous," I scoffed playfully.

Braxton was arguably the sweetest guy I'd ever met, and he treated my best friend the way she deserved. Dakota was right when she said not all players were bad. She'd managed to snag one of the good ones. They were coming up on two years together, and even though he hadn't gotten down on one knee yet, it was coming—and soon. In fact, I'd helped him pick out the ring. It wouldn't be a surprise to anyone, least of all Dakota, considering he'd told her of his plans for their future on their first official date. They were perfect for each other.

"So . . ." Braxton eyed the packed backseat of my car. "When do the movers get here?"

Checking my phone, I saw the text from the truck following not far behind me from Hartford. "About thirty minutes, give or take."

"Plenty of time to round up the troops. You could have a whole bunch of muscular hockey players here to help unload your most prized possessions. Just say the word."

"Nah." I shook my head. "It's too soon."

Sympathy shone in his whiskey eyes, and our conversation's playful nature faded. "He's an idiot."

Ducking my head, I whispered, "Yeah."

"Want me to break his legs the next time he comes to town?" Braxton offered .

"Tempting, but no. That's okay. I just want to move on. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not," Dakota jumped in before Braxton could say anything more. "Let's get you all settled in, and then we're going out before your big first day tomorrow."

"I don't know . . ." I started to turn her down, but she shook her head sharply.

"Nope. You're in my town now, and it's time to make new memories."

"I have a lot of unpacking to do," I countered.

Dakota propped both hands on her hips. "Unpacking can wait. Maybe I can repay the favor from when you forced me out of the house on a night when I protested." She stared lovingly up at Braxton.

Yeah, I could admit their relationship wouldn't exist without a gentle—albeit not subtle—nudge from me. Not only had I dragged her to that house party, but I'd made sure Braxton knew how to find her when she bolted after learning that he played professional hockey. And then I may or may not have gently coaxed her into needing a personal hockey tutor for her book. I might be the puppet master, but they were the ones putting in the hard work, day in and day out. I simply got the ball rolling and they took it from there.

"Fine." I blew out a breath. Pointing at Braxton, I added, "But no hockey players invited, understood?"

Braxton nodded, crossing his heart with a finger. "Absolutely no players. I promise."

There was a twinkle in his eyes that I couldn't place, but I knew he was up to no good.

Going out tonight would probably be a disaster, but I couldn't deny being with my friends again felt good.