365 Days With The Hockey Player I Hate
I was on my fourth drink when someone slid onto the stool beside me.
“Hi Declan.”
That voice, that sinister sultry voice, belonged only to Riley.
She was wearing a tight black gown, that barely covered her thighs, her chest was almost half open. Her blonde hair was down, makeup perfect. She looked like trouble wrapped in temptation.
“Not now, Riley,” I muttered, signaling for another drink.
She ignored me and ordered a vodka soda.
“I saw the photos.” She said.
“Tough break. Soraya always did think she was better than everyone else. Guess she finally showed her true colors.”