Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Her platinum blonde hair is curled loosely, sitting just below her shoulders, and her long, thick eyelashes cover her blue eyes.

  Since Morgan's boyfriend is the starting goalie for the Vancouver Saints hockey team, I, unfortunately, end up getting dragged to every single game. And as much I enjoy hockey, sometimes a girl just wants to sit at home in her bed.

  "Are we leaving or what? I've been waiting forever for you," I tease, heading towards the front door.

  "Shut up." Rolling her eyes, she gets up off the couch.

  As we get inside her Jeep, she looks over and gives me a hopeful smile.

  "We're all going out after the game tonight since it's the first game of the season and all. You're coming, right? It won't be the same without you. Plus I heard the new guy will probably be there."

  Ah yes, the infamous Oakley Hutton. Rumours have been flying around campus about the city’s new hockey God since he moved here a couple of months ago. For a guy most people haven't seen before, he sure has quite the fan base already.

  "I haven't met him yet, but Matt says he's amazing on the ice. He came from Penticton or something."

  "If Oakley's anything like the other guys on the team, I'm going to have to pass on that one. You got the only decent one. As for the party, I guess I'll come. Oh, the things I do for you," I snicker as we head off towards the arena.

  Once we find an empty parking stall outside of the rink a short twenty minutes later, I start to prepare myself for the screaming crowds of fans and the constant groups of girls that are going to be lingering around, searching for their next hormone-driven victim.

  Puck bunnies.

  The desperate, excitable group of girls that only want to hook up with a guy because he plays hockey. What beautiful, exquisite, feminist creatures they are. Not.

  Having spent the past few years being hauled to game after game, tournament after tournament, you learn to keep away from the locker rooms directly afterwards unless the smell of lust and clouds of expensive perfumes is what you crave.

  As soon as we get through the doors, I can barely hear anything Morgan says past all of the "Let's go Saints!" chants and other screams that I try and tune out. I end up ducking my head and let her pull me through the crowds to our seats.

  ❆❆❆

  There are twelve minutes to go in the second period and the Saints are up by a score of three to two. When an arrogant defenseman from the opposing team illegally cross-checks Braden Lowry, our defenseman, I notice Number Eleven, Oakley Hutton, for the first time.

  I watch anxiously as he skates over and grabs the back of the player's jersey before forcefully spinning him around. Oakley drops his gloves and sends a hard-right hook straight to the defenseman's jaw. Before the poor guy can get a hit in, Oakley is throwing another punch, this time at his opponent's abdomen.

  He continues his brutal beat down, his lips moving as he says something to the losing instigator. I can't help but notice just how tall Oakley is as he towers over his opponent on the ice. I can't get a good view with all of his hockey gear in the way, but by the strength of the hits and the fact the Eagle's player is now being carried off the ice towards the dressing room, I get the feeling he does not lack in the muscle department either.

  I feel someone lightly jab me in the side and see Morgan leaning towards my ear. "That's the new guy I was telling you about! Boy sure knows how to fight." She stares at me with a playful glimmer in her eyes before her features tighten up in anger. "What the hell? He's being ejected from the game!"

  I jerk my head forward and am immediately met with a pair of raging green eyes. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, mouth is in a tight line as he furiously stalks down the hallway towards the dressing room. My eyes are locked on his until he disappears from view, leaving my mouth unbelievably dry. He's pissed about the referee's call; no surprise there. We all are.

  "Do you two know each other or something?"

  Glancing over at Morgan, I roll my eyes as she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Don't even start. He'll be lucky if he doesn't get suspended for that," I state matter-of-factly and try to shake the last few minutes out of my memory. "Any chance you can go without me tonight?" Please say yes.

  Morgan lets out an exasperated sigh, "You're joking, right? They so deserved it. And no way. You're coming. It's about time you got back on the horse again." I feel my muscles tense up at her words, causing the hair on my arms to rise. "David was a total prick. He's been out of the picture for a year now. You can't let what happened keep you from trying again," she finishes with a sympathetic look. I know she wants to help, but it isn't that easy.

  David was my high school boyfriend, although our relationship carried into my University experience as well. We dated for three years, and let's just say we didn't exactly have the cleanest breakup.

  "Do you ever think maybe it isn't even David keeping me from a relationship? What if I just want to focus on school? Why do I have to have a guy in my life? Let alone another hockey player who doesn't even know who I am," I snap. "Just because you got lucky with Matthew doesn't mean that I want what you have."

  She flinches back at my harsh tone, and I let out a loud sigh, reluctantly deciding to suck it up for one night.

  "But for you, and only you, I will go. But only for an hour. Then I'm leaving. Got it?"

  "Okay, okay. I got it. I'm sorry, babe." She reaches over, squeezing my hand.

  FOUR

  OCTAVIA

  Morgan and I are the first to arrive at Lucy's Diner after the game, and I can whole-heartedly go for a strawberry milkshake. Maybe even with a little something extra in it to get me through this dinner with Mr. Hotshot-Fighter.

  I take in the immediate aroma of greasy burgers and coffee, and my stomach growls as soon as we walk in. This place has been my favourite diner since my dad started bringing me here every Friday night after my adoption. We would sit in a booth for hours, talking about everything from what homework I had to what the new drama was in school. I miss those days.

  Everything was so much easier back then.

  We find a teal blue booth resting in front of a big window and slide in while we wait for everyone else.

  "Matthew texted. He just pulled up outside with Adam and Tyler!" Morgan shouts excitedly about ten minutes later while anxiously staring at the door. That guy always seems to turn her into a giddy schoolgirl.

  Adam and Tyler are probably the only other two players on the Saints that I would consider my friends. While Adam and I are close, I can't say the same about Tyler and me. Not due to lack of trying on my part either. He's just a much tougher nut to crack than Adam.

  Just as I open my mouth to reply, I hear the bell ring on the diner door and see the three guys walk in.

  Confidence oozes off of them as they make their way to our table. All three are sporting slightly damp hair and fancy suits, courtesy of well-needed showers and their game-day uniforms. Adam stands the tallest, at his six-foot-two height, followed by Tyler, and then Matt.

  When they reach our table, I look up at them slyly. "Bout time you boys showed up. You should know it's never nice to keep people waiting."

  Adam sits in the booth beside me with a smirk on his face and slings his left arm around me, giving me a quick side hug.

  "Funny, we didn't know that we were keeping anyone waiting. Did you, Tyler?"

  "Can't say that I did," Tyler mutters and sits in the seat beside Adam.

  Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention to Matthew as he slides in beside Morgan and kisses her head while sliding his arm around the back of the booth. "Hey, babe."

  She grins, locking her crystal blue eyes with his darker ones. "Hey, Matt. You boys were awesome tonight! Where's your fighter?" she asks, kicking my foot under the table.

  I glare at her as Tyler turns around and jerks his head towards the door. "Walking in as we speak."

  The familiar striking green eyes catch my attention first, the depth of them sending me reeling backwards. A seemingly u
nknown, unfamiliar emotion pours out from behind the glassy gaze.

  Realizing that I'm openly staring into Oakley's newly vacant eyes, I force a cough and tear my own away before letting them follow the sharp lines of his jaw.

  I'm shamefully mesmerized by the beauty of the powerful, chiselled features. From his slightly crooked nose to his plump lips, he looks like God himself carved him. Cliche, I know.

  The endless sleeves of black tattoos covering his forearms catch my attention next as he reaches up to the baseball cap covering his ashy brown hair. He removes it only to run his fingers through the messy locks before slapping it back on, his biceps flexing. I was right earlier when I guessed he was ripped. As I watch him walk towards the table, my mouth dries, a sudden need to see what he's hiding beneath his white dress shirt completely overwhelming me—

  I force myself to stop gawking at him and look around the room. I try to focus on anything but the guy who just so happens to be staring at me with a playful smirk resting on his lips—my cheeks flame when he reaches our table.

  "You can have the window seat, Oakley. I prefer the middle seat anyway," I hear Morgan insist as she shoves Matthew out of the booth before getting out after him, motioning for Oakley to slide into her previous seat. I plaster a tight smile on my face and mentally plan her slow and all so painful death while she slips back in the booth.

  "Do you always check out guys like that, or was that just for me?" I hear a raspy voice whisper. My head snaps up in the direction of the voice only to see Oakley leaning across the table.

  "I would say just you, but that would be a lie," I declare with as much fake confidence as I can muster up and push myself further into the seat.

  He chuckles, "You gonna tell me your name, or do I have to ask your friend?"

  "Octavia!" Morgan practically shrieks. "Her name is Octavia."

  "It's Ava, actually," I correct her, trying to look as bored from the conversation as possible. "I already know yours. You seem to have a special way of introducing yourself to everyone, Oakley."

  "It needed to be done. I just happened to be the guy to take care of it." He simply shrugs—as if beating the crap out of a total stranger is normal. Although, for him, I guess it is. "That team is a bunch of little bitches, anyways."

  He drops the topic and turns his attention to the menu in front of him. Is it just me, or does the famous hockey star not like talking about himself?

  "I can't believe you got ejected, bro. That team was playing dirty all night. Even Coach agreed they had it coming. How are the knuckles?" Matthew puts in, grinning widely.

  I let my eyes wander to the hands holding his menu and notice his right hand is wrapped tightly in a white bandage.

  "Hurt like a bitch," he cringes before Matt speaks again.

  "I have one question, though. What did the guy say to you out there? None of us could hear."

  Oakley sits silently for a few seconds before shrugging. "Just some bullshit about the team." He clears his throat and swiftly changes the subject. "Who's hungry? I know I am."

  As if on cue, the waitress finally tends to our table. She looks to be around our age. She flips her shoulder-length, brassy hair over her shoulder and eyes us warily. She pushes a strand behind her ear nervously, her cheeks pink. It's not hard to tell she's nervous—presumably because of the gorgeous male specimens waiting to order. Can I blame her? Absolutely not.

  "Hi! I'm Jenny and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you?" she asks, her pen floating over her notepad.

  "I'll have a vanilla milkshake, a cheeseburger, and an order of curly fries, please. Thank you," Oakley speaks kindly, although he doesn't look up from his menu. I didn't think he noticed me gawking at him until I hear him chuckle under his breath.

  The waitress raises her eyebrows at me expectantly, but Adam orders for me before I can fumble together a coherent sentence.

  "Two strawberry milkshakes, a double cheeseburger, and two orders of fries. Thank you."

  I smile at him. "You remembered."

  "Of course, beautiful," he grins and rests his arm around my shoulders again. I catch Morgan's raised brows and shrug slightly. She stares at Adam and me, seemingly bemused by the odd show of affection. I tilt my head and look across to Oakley. He watches us curiously, but he looks away as soon as I catch him.

  The tension dissipates when our food arrives. It even sparks an argument about onions of all things.

  "I'm just saying, onions are disgusting. There's something seriously wrong with anyone who enjoys them," Oakley says, shrinking away from the onion I'm dangling in his face.

  "Well, I happen to love them."

  "I should have known. Now I get it," he teases, winking flirtatiously. I feel my face turn red and immediately look down at my lap, hoping that he doesn't pick up on my embarrassment.

  ❆❆❆

  Morgan links her arm in mine as we leave the diner an hour or two later. She shoots me a smug look, winking before sending a nervous pang to my stomach.

  "Hey, Ava!" she shouts. "I have to drive the guys to the gym. Oakley, would you be able to give her a ride home for me? I won't have enough room in my car."

  Why am I not surprised? Morgan would pull something like this. Going to the gym? At eleven o'clock at night?

  "I don't have to go. I can walk home," Adam shrugs. "You'll have enough seats then, right?"

  Morgan immediately narrows her eyes on Adam's stoic expression, silencing him.

  "Sure, I don't mind," Oakley insists, to Morgan's delight—and my not-so-well hidden dismay.

  "Thank you, Oakley," she says through gritted teeth, squeezing my arm way too tight.

  "We'll see you guys later then." Oakley eyes me curiously before offering me a comforting smile when I continue to avoid eye contact. "Thanks for the invite. See you at training tomorrow, Matt." He waves at the rest of the group, then gestures to a white pick-up truck parked a few feet away.

  More confused than ever, I raise my eyebrows questioningly at Morgan. She rolls her eyes in response and blows me a kiss.

  Oakley waits by the passenger door of his truck once I choose to join him. "You know I can open my own door, right? I have two working arms." I wave my arms around to emphasize my point.

  "Oh, I have no doubt. But unless you feel like trying to jump in, you should let me help you," he laughs lightly.

  Without warning, he grabs my waist, forcing a gasp to escape my previously closed lips. With what seems like no effort at all, he lifts me and places me neatly in the truck's cab.

  "Lucky for you my mom taught me always to help a beautiful girl in need," he flirts confidently before heading to his door.

  Pity that she didn't tell him flattery won't get him very far. Not with me, at least.

  "So, you're from Penticton?" I ask a few minutes later when the silence becomes too much in the tight confines of the truck.

  He looks over from his seat and smiles. "Yep, born and raised. Have you always lived in Vancouver?"

  "Yes, but I don't plan on staying once I finish school. I can't stand this rain." I look away, choosing to study the large water droplets on the windshield instead.

  "I get it. I don't want to stay here either. I want to go somewhere warm. So, tell me something," he adds, clearing his throat.

  I force a laugh and shrug. "That's vague."

  "Okay then. What's your lifelong dream? Your big goal?" he asks, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Diving right in, are we?

  "Social Work," I reply without hesitation. "That's the dream, anyway." I wait nervously for his response as his gaze remains locked on the winding road in front of us.

  "Beautiful and kind."

  "Smooth," I tease. Real smooth.

  "Do you want to go somewhere with me?" he mumbles, his eyebrows furrowed as if he's thinking hard about something. It's questions like this that made me wish I could read minds. Unfortunately, though, I lack that superpower.

  "Promise me this isn't a part of your secret plan to k
idnap me? I'm way too young to die," I murmur playfully, a smile playing on my lips.

  He holds his pinky out to me. "Pinky promise."

  I lock my finger with his and meet his eyes. "Then what are you waiting for? Let's go."

  FIVE

  OAKLEY

  There's something special about Ava that I can't quite put my finger on. Not only is she drop-dead gorgeous, but there's something about her that I want to know more about. Something I need to know more about. From the moment I saw her in the stands at the game, she intrigued me.

  Right, the game. The game tonight did not turn out how I wanted it to.

  When I saw Braden get hit from behind, I was pissed. Nobody hits my guys like that and gets away with it. But I was only going to shove the little shit who hit him around a bit to teach him some manners. Then he started running his dirty mouth about my sister—my fucking sister of all people. He got a lot more than he was expecting but not nearly as much as he deserved. However, it didn't look great on my part. The fact that I was the only person on the ice that could hear his vile comments didn't overly help my case.

  I peer over and see Ava's head resting on her left palm, eyes closed with her elbow leaning on the armrest that separates us.

  "I hope that you're still awake. We’re pulling up," I say gently, desperately trying to keep my focus on the gravel road ahead of me. I quickly park the truck in the only acceptable parking space and scope out the familiar area.

  "A river?" she asks, confused. I look away when she starts to stretch. She eyes the wooded clearing suspiciously. "I'm not skinny dipping with you," she adds, and I laugh.

  I reach into the back seat and grab the heavy woollen blanket I carry with me.

  "I found it a couple of days after I moved here. It's a perfect place to think when I'm not spending all of my time shoving guys into the end boards and shooting pucks around." Since I moved here, I think I've been here almost every day. The quiet reminds me of home.