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“People won’t mind me just messing around with their favorite girl?” Now she looks at me. Her pupils dilate, and I hope it’s because she’s thinking of all the ways she wants me to mess around with her. I certainly am. “If I’m happy, they’ll be happy,” she says simply. “Then I guess I’ll have to try hard to make you happy.” Something flickers in her eyes, but she reiterates, “In public. When other people are watching. But we know it’s fake. And I really think that as you get involved with the team and show the town how much fun all of this is going to be, they will like you for that. For hockey.” That jabs me in the chest. I have spent my life being liked because of hockey. I’m used to that. It’s my comfort zone. I should want that. It’s far easier than dating everyone’s favorite person. There are a million ways I could screw this up. I don’t screw up hockey. Still, I say, “Oh, Nora, I’m going to date the hell out of you.” 📚Keep reading 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, by Erin Nicholas 𝙁𝙍𝙀𝙀 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙!