Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,60

Hell, Kid”—My Chemical Romance

We had won our first game but I had a hard time feeling celebratory. There had still been no word from Bleu. Feeling stubborn, I refused to reach out again. It was her turn.

The boys wanted to hit the streets of Toronto after the game since we had the next day off as we traveled to Montreal. At first I’d argued against going out with them, then the more I thought about it, the idea of getting smashed held some appeal.

If Bleu had come with, I would’ve been back in our hotel room that I would have booked. We’d have christened the fuck out of that room. Then once we’d gotten to Montreal, I’d planned to make love to her all morning, then take her sight-seeing. I had an afternoon skate, but we’d have time for a romantic Valentine dinner that night.

Instead, I was sitting in a bar in Toronto with my teammates, drinking too fucking much as I tried to drown my sorrows. Jordan sat next to me, trying to be good company and draw me into conversation, but I was more interested in the amber liquid in my glass.

“Not like you to drink like this,” Jordan said as he nursed the whiskey in his own glass.

I grunted. He sighed and thankfully shut his pie hole.

My cheek was throbbing from where I’d taken a punch. It had bled a lot but hadn’t been serious—a butterfly bandage and I was good. Damn thing hurt like a bitch, though. Few more glasses and I wouldn’t feel it.

Someone ran into my back as I sat hunched on my barstool. It caused some of the liquid from my glass to splash over my hand. As I placed my wet hand to my mouth, I turned around with a scowl. I had to blink a few times to clear my vision.

“Oh my God! You’re Cameron McGregor! Do you remember me?” the blonde squealed. Honestly, I had no clue who she was, and that made me feel a little shitty. Had she been an away game hookup? I’d embarrassingly had a lot of those.

“Uhh,” I stalled.

“It’s me, Tiffany Corbell! We went to school together!” She jumped up and down in her excitement, and it was impossible not to see her tits bounce dangerously. Swear to God, one more hard jump and they would pop out of her top. It was February in Canada, yet she was dressed like it was a balmy summer day, in a strapless top and a short fluttery skirt.

“Oh, hey, Tiffany,” I said, though I didn’t really remember her. She looked slightly familiar, but I had no idea from where.

“You have to take a pic with me! Here, my friend will take it!” She thrust her phone at another blonde and sidled up next to me. I gave a half-hearted smile as her friend snapped pics. I thought we were done, but she told her friend, “One more!”

Right as her friend was taking the pic, she jumped in my lap. Startled my hands went out to grab her sides to hold her back, but she leaned in and slammed her lips to mine. It pissed me off, and I pushed her off my lap but was at least kind enough to make sure she didn’t fall on her ass.

“That wasn’t cool, Tiffany,” I said with a frown. My head spun from the alcohol, but I wasn’t so drunk that I was willing to let someone paw me. She gave me a pout and reached up with her thumb to my lower lip. I instinctively jerked my head back.

“Sorry, you have lipstick on you,” she said as she started to rub it off. I captured her wrist and used it to steer her away from me.

“I can get it,” I growled. Using the napkin from under my drink, I scrubbed viciously at my mouth. The feel of her lips on me had been wrong on so many levels that I was sickened.

“If you don’t have anything going on tonight, maybe we could catch up. I heard you were playing in the NHL, but I never thought I’d see you here tonight,” she gushed and placed a hand on my thigh, completely oblivious to the fact that I was two seconds from actually throttling her.

Again, I removed her wandering hands from my person. Did this chick have no sense of personal space and propriety? If a dude was doing what she was doing, people would be all over him for