The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,10

Chicago,” Indy admits, causing Torsten’s and my mouths to pop open.

“I thought you were too busy reading to watch hockey?” I place my hand in the small of her back, noting that Torsten catches the movement.

It’s wrong, because I’m not laying claim to Indy.

And yet, I’m laying some type of claim to Indy because no way in hell are any of my teammates touching her tonight. Or any night for that matter.

Torsten chuckles. “That was three seasons ago.”

“I still remember the highlights.” She waves a hand. “It’s good to meet you. You should rush the puck more. You’re really great at reading the ice and setting up the play. Don’t pass up on opportunities to create offensive play. Lean into them.” She gives him unsolicited advice and his mouth twists before a bark of laughter pours out.

He nods, agreeing with her observation. “Your dad tell you that?”

“Nah.” She shakes her head, grinning at him cheekily. “That’s all me.”

“I’m impressed, Indiana,” he says, flashing ten fingers to the bartender. “Patrón,” he calls to the guy lining up shot glasses.

“It’s just Indy,” she says.

“What?” He turns back toward her.

“You can call me Indy,” she repeats.

“Okay, Indy. Now that you’ve unmanned me by dissecting the weaker points of my game, you need to take a shot with me so I can somehow save face in front of this group.”

She chuckles, shifting from one foot to the other before nodding in agreement.

“Line ‘em up!” Torsten shouts, beckoning other guys from the team to step up to the bar.

When we’re a group of ten, with little Indy Merrick in the center of us bickering and snickering players, we hold up our shot glasses.

Torsten glances at Indy expectantly. “What are we cheers-ing to?”

A wave of panic flares in her features but in a blink, she pushes it down and replaces it with amusement. “To Torsten’s slap shot!”

The guys all laugh with Torsten cracking up. A few of the guys drop interested glances Indy’s way and I step even closer, making sure my body language signals that they need to back the hell up.

Indy, of course, is oblivious to all of this. Instead, she tosses back her shot and winces as the strong alcohol blazes down her throat.

Placing her shot glass back on the bar, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth in a very unladylike gesture. I grin.

“That was awful,” she says accusatorially.

“That was awesome,” I say instead, enjoying tonight more than I have enjoyed any night in a long time.

5

Indy

Tequila shots. Vodka sodas. And it’s a beer that puts me over the edge.

I am drunk. Not wasted like Claire, but tipsier than I’ve been since Savannah’s bachelorette party three years ago. That night, I thought I was embarking on this exciting new path that was going to lead to an unbelievable, impactful job and a marriage proposal with my dream guy. Ha! I take another swig of beer.

Guys from Austin’s team—Noah, Torsten, and the goalie everyone calls Panda—sit around me, chatting and laughing. While being around hockey players is nothing new, tonight feels different.

These guys have already made it. While they admire my dad, they’re not talking me up for an autograph or a chance to meet him. All of them have met him dozens of times, worked hockey camps with him, and aren’t starstruck anymore. They’re also not tolerating me because I’m Austin’s cousin, a new transplant to Boston.

They’re genuinely interested in the words coming out of my mouth. The conversation is easygoing and effortless. I feel like one of the girls I always used to admire from afar, a girl like Claire or Vanny. One who could sit amidst a group of strong, successful, desirable men and be comfortable in their skin.

Buzzed on a mixture of alcohol and a heady sense of confidence, I’m having more fun than I have in years.

“You dated Jace Edwards?” Torsten asks next to me, his face contorting in disgust.

I giggle. Giggle! “He’s not that bad.”

“The fact that you have to say that means he’s even worse,” Torsten points out.

Tipping my head to the side, I nod, agreeing that his logic makes sense. Jace Edwards really does suck.

Him cheating on me devastated me. He broke my heart and dashed all the dreams I was conjuring up about our future. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part is the way he chipped at my confidence for years, always nagging that his career was the one that mattered, that his goals were more important than