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"Who even-?"
Jia Nazar didn't want to be in Chicago, she didn't want to be at a hockey game, and she definitely didn't want a purple bruise blooming on her temple. She's a straight-A UCLA student who likes logic. Hockey is pure, chaotic sensory overload.
"I was the one who shot the puck. I'm sorry."
Connor is the league's rising star, hidden behind a caged helmet and a wall of stoic silence. His life is entirely empty apartments and post-game aches. But one bad shot changes his entire Sunday routine.
She's a communications major who won't say more than one word to him. He's the guy who almost knocked her out. Toss in her overprotective brother, a shared Sunday breakfast tradition, and a view of each other's apartments from across the street, and Connor's carefully structured world is about to get completely blindsided.
The ice might be cold, but the tension between them is about to boil over.