Wildcat: A Forbidden Sports Romance (Wildcat Hockey Book 1)

SCARLETT

I go over to Jade’s apartment the next day after the cake testing, and we view all the photos I took, so she can finish her article.

“These are amazing,” she squeals as we look through them together.

The storefront was tucked away on a side street, and the signage was almost non-existent. It’s one of those places you could drive by every day and not know it’s there. I took way more photos than she needed, but the way her face lights up makes me glad I did. She goes through them several times before picking out a handful she thinks she can use in the article.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her after she’s picked her favorites.

“Sam’s frat is having a party.”

“Is it weird going to frat parties now that you’ve graduated?”

“So weird.” She sighs. “I think it might be time to break up with him.”

“You said that two months ago, and then you moved in with him,” I remind her. I never expected Jade to date him as long as she has. He’s a nice guy, but they don’t really have anything in common. When Jade was working at the bar, it was convenient to date someone who also worked at night, so their schedules lined up, but she’s moving on, and he’s still very much enjoying the college life.

“Who am I to talk,” I say. “I am dating a hockey player after swearing I’d never date another professional athlete.”

“Leo is not Rhyse.”

I murmur my agreement. She’s right about that.

“We’re going to tell my parents on Sunday.”

“Really?” A smile takes over her face.

“Yeah. He’s so nervous. It’s adorable.”

“Are you kidding?” Jade snorts. “I’d be nervous to tell Coach Miller I was sexing his daughter on the regular, too.”

I roll my eyes, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little apprehension about it myself. “It’ll be fine. Leo’s a good one.”

“Yeah.” She bobs her head, and the body language and tone of her voice tell me she isn’t saying everything she’s thinking.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

I slump forward and meet her gaze. “Don’t hold out on me.”

“You’re right. From everything you’ve told me about Leo, it sounds like he’s a good one.”

“But?” My stomach clenches in warning. Is the other shoe about to drop?

“I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Where is this coming from? You were the one pushing me toward him.”

“As a hookup, yeah.” She pulls out her phone, scrolls until she finds what she’s looking for, and then holds it out to me. It’s Leo the night of the photography exhibit, looking fine and smiling out front of the building. “Where were you in this photo or the dozen others from that night?”

“Inside,” I say, slowly connecting the dots. “It isn’t the same thing as Rhyse. We went in through the back because he wasn’t sure if I wanted to be seen with him since we haven’t told my dad. He went out front to get a few photos to make his agent happy. That’s all.”

Jade stays silent. I hand her phone back and repeat, “It isn’t the same thing.”

“Okay. You know the situation better than I do.” She squeezes my knee. “You deserve someone who wants to show you off. That’s all I’m saying.”

I head back home a little while later, unable to shake Jade’s concerns. It isn’t the same, one side of my brain says, but the other can’t stop worrying that I’m making excuses because I’ve fallen hard for Leo. I want this time to be different.

I open Instagram, and the first post on my feed is of Rhyse. The universe is obviously fucking with me. I give it the usual scan, but it doesn’t hurt the same way it did in the past. He’s no longer the guy I want to be with.

When we first started dating, I specifically avoided searching Leo’s social media, so I wouldn’t have to know the number or quality of his past relationships. We weren’t there yet. Until the past couple of days, we’d only briefly talked about those things, and I didn’t want to have it in the back of my head while I was spending time getting to know him. But now, with Rhyse popping up and reminding me why I didn’t want to date Leo in the first place, I decide to Google him.

How bad can it be?

The first thing that pops up is a news article dated today that makes a cold sweat break out over my entire body. Wildcats Leo Lohan in a New Relationship?

Under the headline, there’s a photo of the two of us at the photography exhibit. To anyone that knows me, it’s clearly me, but whoever wrote this article has no clue. In the small write-up, it states only that Leo was spotted with an unknown woman looking cozy, and then the article proceeds to detail out his dating history. Here it is, everything I wanted to know laid out in chronological order: Leo’s entire dating history.

It starts with the awful college scandal he told me about. A younger Leo, shirtless, with a girl on either side of him, stares at the camera with a hazy expression. That’s the tamest of the pictures from that night.

I skip past to see who else he’s dated since. He said none of them were serious, but that hasn’t stopped him from dating. And the girls he’s been paired with in the past two years are as stunning as I feared. Models, college girls, blondes, brunettes, redheads, all as beautiful as the next. The gorgeous blonde sports reporter his agent has been trying to get him to go out with is the latest woman he’s been cited as dating.

I groan, but now that I’ve ripped off the Band-Aid, I can’t stop. I type in his name and scroll through pictures of him at various events with dates. I skip over any sports-related news and go right for the trashy tabloids. I suddenly need to know it all. My stomach twists. Here he is with all of these women he said meant nothing, and I’m an unknown in a blurry photo that will probably be forgotten tomorrow.

I should be glad, but the irrational part of me that wants to be his in a way that these girls weren’t, wants the whole world to know—consequences be damned.

I get ready for the game. Leo has a standard pre-game routine, and I know if I text him and warn him, there’s a good chance it’ll screw with his game, so I don’t.

Still, I know that as soon as the game is over, I need to tell him about the article, and then we need to have an awkward conversation with my dad. I can’t wait for Sunday. If that’s the only reason he doesn’t want to be pictured with me, then I’ll know.

And I need to know.