He doesn't remember ruining her life. She's about to remind him.

IVY
Seven years ago, Gabriel Castellano took the best night of my life and turned it into a punchline—one that cost me a spot on the national pipeline and the only future I'd ever planned for.
Now he's back. Traded to Whistler, parked in my booth with his new teammates, telling me to surprise him like he's never seen my face before.
As far as he knows, he hasn't.
So I did what any professional would do. I "accidentally" poured a pint of our worst IPA straight down his six-hundred-dollar shirt. Surprise.
Here's the problem: his team just bought the sponsorship keeping my late father's bar alive—which makes the man I've spent seven years hating a fixture on the wrong side of my taps. And the longer he keeps showing up, the harder it gets to remember that I hate you was supposed to be the whole story.

GABRIEL
People have told me who to be since I was fifteen, and I've never once disappointed them. Golden boy. Franchise face. The guy who never puts a foot wrong.
So I can't explain the bartender.
She hates me—openly, specifically, like she's been waiting years to do it to my face.
The worst part isn't that I don't know why.
It's that I'm starting to think I should.
Whistler Wolves, Book One. A slow-burn, high-angst, enemies-to-lovers hockey romance with a grovel that draws blood.