Chelsea Curto

God damn.

She’s hot as sin.

Exactly the kind of woman I could get into trouble with.

I’m staring, but it’s hard to look away. There’s this energy about her that makes my palms sweaty and my heart pound in my chest like I’ve been running for miles.

It’s not the hangover, either.

It’s her

Hartwell’s hockey skills are on a different planet, and I think I might be a little bit in love with her.

I’ve never wanted someone the way I want Emerson—repeatedly.

Consistently.

Every second of every day.