Unfortunately, they were having some epic one-day sale I hadn’t been aware of, and the place was packed. Normally, I would have bailed, but I had a few hours to kill, and I wanted to check out a bunch of newly released equipment, so I decided to stay and deal with the crowds. Plus, I was more than a little distracted thinking about seeing Bailey later. Completing schoolwork or doing anything else remotely productive wasn’t an option.

I navigated through the throngs of shoppers over to the skate-sharpening counter in the rear corner. There was usually no wait, but today the line was at least a dozen people deep.

When I joined the lineup, Morrison suddenly appeared from out of nowhere like a preppy little demon summoned from the depths of hell. Pale blue polo, slicked-back blond hair, and an overwhelming aura of entitlement. That he’d been handed everything his entire life was written all over his cocky face.

What were the fucking odds?

I balled my hands into fists, squeezing until my knuckles turned white; I wished they were around his neck. I’d always hated the guy, but it was next-level at this point.

Pulling out my phone, I sent Dallas a quick text about the practice plan for later. Then I popped a piece of extreme mint gum, taking my hostility out on it. And I checked our fantasy hockey results to find that James was right about taking the trade. After last night’s games, I was in second place overall, while Dallas had fallen to fourth. Nice.

Despite my blatant attempt to ignore him, Morrison slithered my way, coming to hover close enough that I was engulfed in a cloud of his too-strong, obnoxious cologne. His presence was irritating on every level.

He nodded at the skates in my hand. “Are those Bailey’s?”

The fuck?

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a creep?” I asked.

Morrison squinted his watery blue eyes, glaring at me. Or attempting to, anyway. He didn’t have enough spine to lend the weak glare any credibility.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a dick?” he countered.

I grinned. “All the time, man.”

A compliment, really, considering the source.

The winding line moved forward, turning right, which created a buffer of people between us. No longer able to needle me, Morrison lost interest and wandered off.

Once I dropped Bailey’s skates off at the counter, I browsed the store, making a conscious effort to avoid him—not because I was scared of him, but because I was scared of what I might do to him.

He talked a lot of shit for someone who couldn’t back it up. I should pummel him for the text message thing alone. But I couldn’t afford to lay him out off the ice. Good thing we were playing them again soon.