Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,67

me she didn’t really believe her own words.

“It is different, because I don’t know if I can get over how quickly he moved on. How could he have done that if what we had was real? I’m not saying how I feel is right, but it is what it is. I can’t change how I feel.” She had no idea the excruciating pain that had taken me out at the knees when that woman had answered the phone. I’d let go of my insecurities for him, and he’d snuck his way into my heart. Look where it had gotten me.

“What if it wasn’t what it seemed?” She lamely raised her brows and shrugged.

I snorted in disbelief. “How could it not be? There were pictures and a chick that answered his phone in the morning while he was in the shower.”

Defeat shone in her blue eyes. “I don’t know, Bleu, but I’ve never seen someone make you as happy as he did. You really cared for him, and I hate to see you two stubbornly throw that away if there’s a chance you can work this out.”

Slowly, my gaze lifted to the TV where the Amurs were playing. Cameron was back on the ice. My chest ached as my heart yearned to see him up close.

“I don’t know what to do,” I sadly replied. She placed her hand over mine.

“I wish I had the right answer. But maybe start with hearing what he has to say. If it sounds like absolute bullshit, then drop his ass and move on.” Her small, sad smile was followed by a squeeze of my hand. “In the meantime, let’s go back to my place and eat more ice cream.”

Reluctantly, I laughed. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

We paid our checks and left. On the way, I gripped my phone tightly and continuously glanced at it. I debated unblocking him, but I couldn’t do it. Each time I started to, the pain in my chest was so raw I was afraid I might bleed out.

Except I kept hearing Crimson’s voice telling me he was miserable too.

At Crimson’s house, we loaded up our bowls with mint chocolate chip and every topping she had in the house. Then we went to the living room and plopped our gluttonous asses on her comfy couch.

She flipped on the boob-tube. “Whadda ya wanna watch?” she mumbled around her first bite of ice cream.

Swallowing my own, I considered long and hard. Then I glanced her way. “Wanna watch the end of the game?”

Her smile was brilliant. “Hell yeah. Dmitry is hot on the ice,” she announced, causing me to laugh.

“By the way, what’s up with that?” I asked before shoveling another sugar-laden bite into my mouth.

“Dmitry?” She popped a gummy bear in her mouth and chewed. I nodded. She shrugged. “Mmm, he’s fantastic in the sack. Hockey players fuck like they play—hard, fast, and rough. It’s awesome.”

Face on fire, I stared at her. Then we laughed together.

The game was painful to watch for several reasons. One, seeing the glimpses I got of Cameron made my insides ache. Two, they were playing like shit. It seemed like every one of them was off their game. Missed shots, shots that snuck by, poor passing, penalties, you name it.

By the time the final buzzer sounded, the Amurs had received a sound tromping with a 7-2 score. Crimson shot off a text to Dmitry telling him God knows what, but likely something sappy even though she was insisting it was just sex.

“Damn. Bet they get their asses chewed by the coach.” My sister grimaced. Our empty bowls had long since been forgotten on the coffee table, so I gathered them up to take to the kitchen.

“Definitely no celebrating tonight,” I agreed. Part of me wondered if Cameron would be drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Then I realized it could as easily be in women.

And that possibility tore me to shreds.

“Die Trying”—Art of Dying

Jesus. The last two of our away games were brutal. We’d only won against Ottawa because of an accidental goal. Kris had taken the shot, they had blocked, but it bounced off the skate of one of their defensemen and slipped between their goaltender’s knees.

We were in line to load up on the plane to go home. I knew part of the reason for my shitty performance was because of Bleu blocking me. At first I thought maybe she was ignoring me. Then I realized none of my messages said they were delivered and