Logan Romano took the NHL like a hurricane- dark and brooding.
With his natural talent, brute force and sheer determination, he goes completely unchallenged both on and off the ice.
He's notorious. Both for his success and his stormy personality...
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It's 1:23pm when Nova finally resurfaces from her bedroom and makes it into the kitchen.
She looks terrible. Dark circles around her eyes, a smear of leftover makeup across her cheek and hair so tangled it would take me a fucking year to run my fingers through it.
But my favourite thing of all her hungover hot-messiness? The slight limp in her walk.
And not the good kind.
The kind of limp she got from walking directly into a fire hydrant.
That was the highlight of my night.
The low point was probably having to hold her hair back as she dry heaved into the toilet. That wasn't fucking great. But it did successfully squash any stirring feelings of attraction I had for her.
"Mornin' sunshine!" I greet loudly, my voice echoing around the kitchen.
Stanley barks at her as she shuffles into the room and I hold back a smile of pride. I guess my dog is finally back on my team. Have a load of that, Nova.
"Coffee?" My voice is still bellowing when I hold out the coffee pot to her. "You look like you need some."
Blondie grips her no doubt banging head. "I do. Desperately. Preferably on an IV drip."
She takes the coffee pot out my hands, takes one of her mugs out of the cupboard and pours.
But nothing comes out. Not one drop.
"Oh right. I forget it was empty. Sorry." I stifle a chuckle at her bewildered face.
She's scowling down at the coffee pot like it personally offended her, her nostrils flaring slightly in anger. "There's a special place in hell for people like you."
Ouch. True, but still hurtful. "Don't be so fucking dramatic. You can make another pot."
"I can't make another pot!" Goldilocks hisses, rubbing her puffy eyes. "Because everyone knows making a second lode in an already used pot is gross! So that means I'll have to wash the pot before I can make any coffee!"
"So? What's the problem with that?"
Hell has no fury like a woman without caffeine. That much is crystal fucking clear from the crazed, deathly look shining in Nova's eyes right now.
"Does I look like a girl who can afford to wait for some coffee to brew, Mr Romano? Do I?"
Judging by her clenched fists, flared nostrils and deep scowl, I think the correct answer might be 'no'. But I think my safest bet is to just keep my damn mouth shut.
I think I prefer drunk Nova to hungover Nova. This version is a lot fucking scarier.
I scroll through my Instagram feed as Blondie drags herself around the kitchen, moaning and groaning with every little movement.
