Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

“That’s sweet.”

He smiled. “And very pretty.”

Yup, I fell because he called me pretty. I don’t get called that much. I don’t think I’m ugly, because I’m not. I look like my mom. She’s absolutely stunning, and with my dad’s genes mixed in there, I’m not so bad to look at. But then there’s Shelli. Everyone—and I mean everyone—is in love with my sister. She is built like my mom, curvy in all the right places and has my dad’s bright-blue eyes. She has long, luscious hair, and she carries herself like a million bucks. She kicks ass and takes names. She doesn’t settle for anything but perfection, and she sings like a damn angel. Anything Shelli wants to do, she does. And basically, everyone is convinced she farts glitter and shits rainbows.

It’s sorta annoying.

Meanwhile, there is me. Unlike Shelli, I’m not built like my mom. I’m actually quite tall like my dad—but with my mom’s weight issues. I wouldn’t call them curves, more like speed bumps. I have a wide ass, a little bit of a gut—I don’t say no to donuts—and huge shoulders. I’m just thick. I’ve played hockey since I was two, so it’s easy to say I have a lot of muscle on me.

My hair does not do that pretty, smooth, wavy thing that Shelli’s does—no, it’s a kinky wave. My wave isn’t even all in one direction—nope, it’s in every direction known to man. If I don’t wake up and straighten this hot mess, I might as well accept I’m going to spend the day looking like I live on the street.

My sister is always dressed to the nines and could probably lead a makeup tutorial. She wakes up like that—flawless. If I have to wear anything other than sweats and I have to actually put on makeup, I’m not going. I will say, though, my eyes are one hell of an awesome mix of my parents. Sometimes they look green, but for the most part, they’re blue.

Growing up, since Shelli and I are only ten months apart, my mom always dressed us the same. As if we were twins, but we weren’t. Shelli was putting herself out there, beautiful, and at the drop of a hat, always singing for someone. I was mostly in the corner, playing with a sock puck I’d made. I was the epitome of a tomboy—or hell, I still might be one. I got mixed in with my three younger brothers, and since Shelli doesn’t know how to do anything but shine, I felt like my parents forgot I existed.

Don’t get me wrong. My mom and dad love me; I know they do, but Shelli has always taken up a lot of their time and effort. Since Shelli is newly engaged—and to the golden boy, Aiden Brooks—I assumed I could get out of Nashville without anyone noticing. Alas, my family chose the moment I skipped town to pay attention to me.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I make my way out of the airport. I didn’t tell Maxim I was coming, only that I was sending a surprise. When my dad sent him away three weeks ago, my heart broke into pieces. I couldn’t believe it. Maxim was happy with us, and no matter how much my dad denies what he did, claiming instead that the farm team in Colorado wanted Maxim, I know it’s not true. Dad didn’t want Maxim in the house anymore because he knew we were getting closer. We were falling in love. Maxim even had stopped talking to Stella Brooks and seemed to be focusing only on me. We were so close to taking it to the next level, but then he was “traded.”

Bunch of bullshit, in my opinion.

The whole ride to Maxim’s apartment has me in knots. I’m beyond nervous, and a part of me wants to run back home. I have known this guy for years, almost three, and I have never gotten the balls to tell him how I feel. I just never felt like he was interested until recently, and by the time I thought I’d worked up the courage to tell him, he was sent away. I know there’s a chance of rejection, but I know if I don’t tell him how I feel, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I have to tell him. And if he says he loves me too, I’m not leaving. I don’t have a plan, but I’m sure I can get a job at the college or something once I convince my mom to send me a recommendation. Or hell, Uncle Jakob would have to write me one since he ratted me out.

When my Uber stops in front of Maxim’s townhouse, I feel butterflies beneath my skin. Maxim had sent me a picture of his new place when he moved in. We talk every day, on the phone and through text, and he seems excited for his new adventure. He loves playing for the farm team; it’s one more step toward the NHL.