Mother-freaking hockey players.
My friends found their happily-ever-afters with a couple of sweet, doting, over-the-top, in-love athletes. They got nicknames like Kitten and Sugar. But me? I got stuck with a dickhead who riles me up on purpose and calls me Banshee.
Yeah, he might have a voice made explicitly for wet dreams. And he might have a body and face carved by the gods. And he might have a level of Alpha-hole that gets me all hot and bothered.
But when he presses my buttons, he presses ALL my buttons. And I’m not the type of girl who takes things sitting down (I mean, I only got caught on my knees that one time. In the museum).
But when my decisions get one of my friends hurt, I can’t stop blaming myself. And him. Except he can’t take a hint. And I can’t keep my panties on.
