Twenty minutes later, I burst through the doors of Briar’s hockey arena. Cold air immediately slaps my cheeks, but it doesn’t succeed in cooling the fire burning inside me. It’s five-thirty, which means Garrett and the team have just finished practice, so I bypass the rink doors and march right to the locker rooms in the back of the building. I’m so pissed off that my whole body is trembling from the force of my anger.
Garrett has officially stepped over the line. No, he’s so far past the line that I can’t even see the stupid line. And there’s no way I’m letting him get away with this ludicrous, juvenile bullshit.
I reach the locker room door as one of the players walks out of it.
“Is Garrett in there?” I bark.
He looks startled to see me. “Yeah, but—”
I bulldoze past him and grab the door handle.
The guy protests from behind. “I don’t think you should go in th—”
I burst into the locker room and—
Penises!
Sweet Jesus.
Penises everywhere.
Horror slams into me as I register what I’m seeing. Oh God. I’ve stumbled onto a penis convention. Big penises and small penises and fat penises and penis-shaped penises. It doesn’t matter which direction I move my head because everywhere I look I see penises.
My mortified gasp draws the attention of every penis—er, guy, in the room. In a heartbeat, towels snap up and hands cover junk and bodies shuffle around, while I stand in the front of the room blushing like a tomato.
“Wellsy?” A bare-chested Logan grins at me, one shoulder propped up against his locker. It looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“Penis—Logan,” I blurt out. “Hi.” I do my best to avoid making visual contact with the half naked males milling in the room, all of whom are either grinning in amusement or blanching in alarm. “I’m looking for Garrett.”
With a barely restrained smirk, Logan hooks his thumb at a doorway in the back, which I assume leads to the showers because steam is rolling out of it.
“Thanks.” I shoot him a grateful look and head in that direction, just as someone emerges from the steamy space.
Dean appears and I see his penis.
“Hey, Wellsy,” he drawls. Completely unfazed by my presence, he strolls naked toward his locker as if finding me in here is a daily occurrence for him.
I charge forward, debating whether I should close my eyes, but luckily all the showers have saloon-type doors and are divided by partitions. As I march down the tiled floor, heads swivel my way. One of the heads belongs to Birdie, whose eyes widen when I walk past him.
“Hannah?” he squeaks.
I ignore him and keep walking until I spot a familiar back. My gaze conducts a quick double-check, and yep, golden skin, tattoo, dark hair. It’s Garrett, all right.
At the sound of my footsteps, he twists around and gapes at the sight of me. “Wellsy?”
I stalk up to the half-door, level him with my meanest scowl, and shout, “What is the matter with you?”