The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

Elle and I place our order and grab our coffee before finding a table to sit at.

The café is already getting crowded, and I expect in the next hour for it to be a packed house with barely any standing room.

Elle flips her dark hair over her shoulder, and I try not to cringe at the rat’s nest forming in the thick dark strands since she neglected to brush it. “So, do you like Ryland?”

My eyes widen with shock. I hadn’t been expecting that. “Um, what?”

“Do you like Ryland?” she asks again.

“I mean, I like him, but not how you’re implying,” I explain.

She wraps her slender fingers around her coffee cup, and I notice a tattoo of a skull on the middle finger of her right hand. “You wouldn’t mind if I …” she trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.

“Do whatever you want,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “I don’t care.”

She smiles. “He’s cute and nice—not the kind of guy I normally go for, but the fucktards I normally date only screw me over. I think it’s time to try something different.”

I nod. “Different can be good.”

Our food is brought out and they swipe the number card from our table. My egg sandwich smells amazing and reminds me of the one my mom always made. She insisted on making us breakfast every morning before school, and if she was sick, she always made my dad do it. I’m suddenly hit with a severe case of homesickness and my need to get away seems so silly now. What was I running from?

I dismiss my thoughts from my mind and eat my breakfast, chatting with Elle. She tells me all about her hockey obsession when one of the players comes into the café. She knows everything about the university team and it’s a bit shocking, but I’m learning Elle is full of surprises.

“Let’s meet back here for lunch,” Elle says, since we both have a break in the middle of the day at the same time.

“Sounds good.” I ball up my napkin and get up to throw away my trash.

I grab my backpack and slide my arms through the loops. My first class is a few buildings to the right and back so it shouldn’t take me long to get there—if I don’t get lost, that is.

Elle trails behind me as we head for the exit, pushing our way through the growing crowd of people. A guy sees us coming out and moves to open the door for us.

A breeze hits my face as I look up and say, “Thank you.” I gasp. “Bennett?”

Elle slams into me. “Bennett?” Her head whips from me to where I’m staring. “Holy shit, Bennett James! I’m a huge fan!”

“Hi, Grace,” he says with a lopsided smile. He tips his head at Elle and looks back at me with a twinkle in his hazel eyes like he’s silently laughing. “See you around.”

He steps back into the building, and the door clamors closed.

Elle grabs my arm and holds on so tight that I yelp. “Ow, let go.” I shake her off.

She steps back, looking at me with a shocked expression. “How do you know Bennett James?”

“He took me to Target on Saturday,” I say.

She stares at me. “You’ve never met him before?”

“No,” I say, wishing she’d get to the point.

“Grace,” she cries, jumping up and down. “He’s only the hottest NHL player ever. He’s got this whole cocky bad boy thing going for him, and on the ice, the guy is a beast. I’m telling you, it’s something to see.”

“Wait …” I pause. “You’re telling me that guy—” I point at the café where Bennett stands “—is a professional hockey player?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Why is that so hard to comprehend?”

I shake my head. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He probably figured you knew,” she reasons.