All Rémy Miller has ever known are lies until someone is able to give him the life changing truth. When studying at Harvard University, his path unexpectedly collides with feisty freshman Céline Martin. Their meeting is not the ideal way to meet som...
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Lies:
She's not even my type
I do fucking care, is what I should have said...
But she thinks I'm an asshole, so asshole is what she'll get.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed she treated me like a stranger.
Though, it's not like I know every little stupid fact about her, but after one night with her under the influence of I don't remember how many shots I'd say I know enough.
I know enough to be into her.
So yes, I'm disappointed.
But, I'm livid too, because her friend told her he made sure she got home safe and I'm taking it out on my goalie.
"The hell dude! What are you trying to do!" Tristan Čermák, but the boys all call him Mackie, chirps from his goalpost, angerly throwing off his helmet. "Did someone grabbed you by the balls too many times!? Fuck ey!?" He keeps yelling but I sustain the sulking mood I'm in, hitting a puck into the unattended goalpost at the other side of the rink.
"Shut up, Mackie." I stand up straight before taking another shot. "Put your helmet on or get out of my way." I howl at him and with an angry sigh he slaps his helmet back on.
"Fine! Go again, give me your best!" I do. I give him the fastest and hardest shot I can juggle out of my wrist. It passes Mackie and he shakes his head. "Feel better now?"
"Not even fucking close!" I can feel I'm clenching my jaw. Like I have been for the entire ride to the rink and the first ten minutes of warm up. It's giving me one hell of a headache too. Even my skates are tighter than usual because I took my anger out on my laces. I surely regret that now, because I cut off the blood supply to my feet.
I go again, another puck flying at my goalie, but this time it knicks him in the helmet. "Fuck." I mutter, instant guilt filling my chest as I skate over to him. "Hey, you good bud?" I rush out when he's grabbing his helmet again.
"No!" He screams at me. "You're fucking insane!" He gives me a push and I let him. "Why don't you safe some of that anger for this weekend's game. Don't fucking take it out on me. You could have injured me." He's right, and my face falls while he throws his helmet at my feet and turns around, grabbing his bottle from the net to rinse his face. There's no blood, but there could have been if that puck hit him just a little harder. "What the fuck is this about?" He turns back to me with a scowl on his face. "A fucking bunny?"
"No." I'm too quick to answer.
"So, yeah."
"I don't know." I sigh, while looking away into the rink's fog. She's not a bunny. I know that. "I don't even know her, but,"
