Starting Lineup (Heston U Hotshots)

Chapter 1

ONE

LAINEY

Campus buzzes nonstop about last night’s hockey game. Everywhere I go, it’s all I hear. The only thing people want to talk about is how great Theo and Alex’s winning goals were.

Heston University—no, the entire town of Heston Lake itself—is obsessed with our ice hockey team. Whenever they play, my picturesque New England academic haven turns into the equivalent of a sports bar, like the one my dad owns in town.

I could ignore this transformation if it wasn’t my twin brother and his best friend that everyone is so hung up on after a stellar season last year.

They’ve garnered the town’s obsession as the only two freshmen to earn starting positions and help take Heston all the way to the national championship.

My early acceptance to Heston University came first based on the merit of my good grades and hard work. Theo’s came because Heston scouted him for the team, stealing my thunder and my chance to shine on my own instead of living in the shadow of my superstar athlete twin.

Guess which one of us Dad’s more proud of? It’s not my photo plastered all over his sports bar.

“For real, though,” a girl gushes ahead of me on the snow-lined path to her friend.

“It was insanely hot when Alex Keller took that final shot Theo Boucher passed to him. It does things to my body seeing them all aggressive on the ice, whipping those sticks around. Are you going to the party at the hockey house tomorrow night after the game?”

“Dibs on Theo,” her friend replies in a saucy tone. “He can body check me right into his bed.”

Oh god, no. Nope. I can’t.

Pressing my lips together in a firm line, I scurry past them with my head down, automatically lifting a hand to adjust my glasses.

Strands of long dark blonde hair fall forward to frame my face as a terrible vision of my life flashes before my eyes.

I still have two more years of coping with the damn hockey season and suffering through people thirsting for my brother until I finish my degree.

The unpleasant mental image gives me the urge to drop what I’m doing, walk down to The Landmark, and hide behind Dad’s bar snuggled up to Hammy.

The white and tan eighty pound pitbull is the locals’ favorite bar dog, but to me he’s always been my emotional support and safety blanket after Mom left us when Theo and I were sophomores in high school.

The kicker? She dumped Dad for a hockey player in the AHL she’d been having an affair with.

Everyone in Heston Lake lives and breathes hockey.

Me? I hate hockey and I can’t stand hockey players. As far as I’m concerned, the hockey season can’t end soon enough.

I’m so lost in my agitated thoughts that I almost walk into another group of students crowding the wide path. Adjusting the bundle of books and flyers in my arms, I cast the fresh snow a dour look. If the early February storm hadn’t blown through last night, I could’ve cut across the grass.

The three guys I almost ran into don’t notice me, carrying on their conversation. “But did you see that freshman’s crazy assist? That Blake kid’s skating is unreal.”

“He’ll go pro. No doubt.”

Great. More hockey.

“Wait, that’s one of them isn’t it? Blake!”

At the call of his name, a tall boy with messy brown hair and his friend pause nearby.

They both have bulky dark blue gym bags slung over their shoulders with Heston U Hockey embroidered on them.

If their warm up jackets weren’t a beacon of who they are on campus, the recognizable bags would have given them away.

“You’re Easton Blake, right?”

Easton shoots the trio of guys a roguish smile full of confidence and pride. His friend smacks his shoulder playfully with the back of his hand, grinning like an idiot. He adjusts his backwards baseball hat and steers Easton in the direction of the arena.

Uninterested, I seize the opportunity to slip by the group while they’re distracted. I have so much to do for the event I’m planning to support the small family-owned bookstore I work at. There are only a few weeks left and my to-do list isn’t getting shorter.

Hanging the flyers I’m balancing with the rest of my stuff is the top priority on the list today.

I bite my lip. Before I can accomplish the task, I need to gather the courage to hang them.

I’m much happier staying hidden between the shelves of the shop.

I don’t even handle the customers most days, leaving that to Mr. Derby and his daughter.

Putting myself out there and inviting people to see what I’m passionate about isn’t something I’m used to.

I keep telling myself to suck it up, because this event I’m organizing is too important. Without the college and the town’s help, the bookstore faces a corporate buyout from a chain brand. If that happens, it will undermine generations of one of Heston Lake’s staples.

I won’t let that happen. If I can get people to buy tickets to attend this charity dance, raising money won’t be a problem. Derby Bookshop is a piece of this town’s history that I care about.

It’s the motivation I need to step out of my comfort zone.

Everything about the event has been a lesson in challenging myself—talking to vendors, being in charge of the plans, petitioning the school to let me use a banquet hall on campus for the dance.

All of it has stirred anxiety in the pit of my stomach throughout the process of preparing my Ballgowns for Books benefit.

Maybe Dad will let me hang some flyers around The Landmark. A lot of Heston students go there. It’s a start. Small steps will get me up any hill that seems insurmountable.

I’m absorbed in a mental checklist as I navigate my way through campus. Keeping my head down is a mistake I don’t realize until it’s too late.

Everything clutched in my arms goes flying when I collide with a solid wall of muscle that towers over me.

The colorful advertisements for the dance scatter the pavement along with my books and the journal with all of my important event planning notes.

It falls open to the page with the final stages of organizing everything and I focus on it rather than the snickers sounding around the scene.

Large hands steady me. A thanks that will probably tangle on my tongue with the apology ready to follow dies when he speaks first.

“Finally ready to throw yourself at me, Lainey Brainy?”

Every muscle in my body freezes.

Not this again. Not today. Not him.

I squirm, intent on shoving myself back to get distance between us. Mike’s fingers dig in. He chuckles, holding on a beat longer before releasing me. Being around him makes me frazzled. I swallow it back as he drags a hand through his hair, flashing his buddies observing the scene a smarmy grin.

The urge to run rises within me, but it would mean leaving my notebook behind. Weeks of hard work is in those pages.

Watching me with a smirk, Mike kneels at the same time as me, reaching for my notebook. I grip the end of it, tugging uselessly against the huge football player.

The only athletes on campus I can’t stand more than the hockey players are the football team. Namely, Mike River.

“Give it back,” I say.

He pretends to consider my demand. “I don’t think so. Say please.”

I push my glasses up, ignoring the nervous thrum of my pulse. “Thank you for picking it up. I’ll be taking it now.”

He rips it from my grasp with an easy jerk. Flicking through the pages and glancing at the flyers covering the ground, he frowns. “When are you going to forget about these dusty old books? You’re wasting your college life on this crap.”

“That’s Brainy for you,” one of his friends says. “Books are all she’s got going on in that big head.”

Leave it to the jocks enrolled at Heston in the athletic track to not understand anything outside of their fans, their parties, and their sport. All things I don’t care about.

Anyone who doesn’t fit in with that lifestyle is labeled different.

Strange. Despite college being a place where students explore our diverse interests and prepare for the next stage of adulthood, there are still too many people who put far too much stock in the importance of popularity like some social experiment gone wrong.

Rolling my lips between my teeth, I ignore Mike’s question. Books are my escape from everything, but he doesn’t deserve to know.

“Ballgowns for Books. Enjoy an evening of stepping into your favorite fairy tales to support a good cause,” he reads, then snorts. “Oh, Brainy. No one’s going to this dorky shitshow.”

His dig hurts, but I smother the sting. My research suggested that a formal dance was the best way to attract attention. It wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’s the one I went with. It doesn’t sit well with me that there’s a possibility I’ll fail to help the bookshop because I made a mistake.

I gather the flyers and my other books before shooting to my feet, aiming for a calm, direct tone when I hold my hand out. “I’ll take my notebook, please.”

His football buddies create a blockade around me, making escape impossible. I do everything in my power to avoid running into these guys, but today is all kinds of bad vibes.

“You’re not trying to run away?” Mike cocks his head, rising to his full height. I purse my lips, caught out. “Nah, you’re too smart for that, Brainy.”

One of the guys coughs the word nerd into his fist. Original.

After a year and a half of sharing a campus with them, I’m used to Mike and his friends making it their mission to taunt and humiliate me at every opportunity. If I stay quiet and out of the way, they usually get bored and move on.

Mike’s cutting laugh makes me tighten my hold around the books I picked up.

Any minute now. When they’re still snickering, closing in on me instead of leaving me alone, I glance up and immediately regret it when he catches my eye.

It’s the same look he’s given me since a freshman class we shared last year.