Good hockey is like good sex.
Both require stamina, skill, and a willingness to take a few risks. Not to mention, if you’re doing it right, you should end up sweaty as hell.
I’m in the zone tonight, filled with the same rush I always get from playing at the top of my game. The noise of the crowd is a distant roar in my ears as my entire world narrows down to what’s happening on the ice.
Focused and completely aware of the location of each of my teammates, I whip around the opposing team’s defensemen and push the puck toward their goal with lightning speed. I pass the puck to Reese, our left-winger, who’s there for the catch. He plays around with the puck for a bit, shifting his stick back and forth in moves so fast he’s practically a blur. Digging my toe into my right skate, I launch myself forward and find an opening.
There are only fifteen seconds left on the clock, and the tension in the arena is palpable. It’s almost as if I can feel the pounding hearts of everyone in the crowd, like if I really focused I could hear everyone’s breath catch in their chest collectively.
Reese sends the puck flying my way, and I don’t hesitate.
With my stick up in the air, I pivot on my skates and hit the puck as hard as I can. It goes sailing right through the five-hole, narrowly missing the goalie’s outstretched hands as he tries to save it from going through his legs. It slams into the back of the net, and everyone is on their feet.
I have one single moment to savor the look on the goalie’s face as he realizes he just let me score the winning point… and then someone claps me hard on the back while another one of my teammates crashes into me from the side. I go down, and soon I’m at the bottom of a dog pile. The horn indicates that the game is over by blaring throughout the arena.
The crowd is losing their minds. The game was tied for almost the entire final period, so we would’ve gone to overtime if I hadn’t made that goal. Overtime is fine, but I personally always like a clean win.
“That was beautiful!” Reese, the player directly on top of me, yells in my ear. “That shot—” He smacks his lips together like a kiss. “It was perfect!”
“Couldn’t have done without you,” I say as I shrug him off and get back to my feet. “Well, actually, I probably could’ve, but that perfect pass made it a little easier.”
He rolls his eyes and reaches out to give me a slap on my helmet. I push him back on his skates and then turn around to celebrate with a few more of my teammates. Everyone is grinning ear to ear, and the excitement grows as we head into the locker room and start to relive the best moments of the game. Theo and Sawyer argue good-naturedly over whose shot was better while I walk over to Grant Parker, our goalie, and stick out my hand for a shake.
He looks down at it, then back up at me with a confused frown. “What’s that for?”
“You did great, man. You were a wall between the pipes tonight.”
“They still managed to slip two past me,” he says, rubbing at the dark, scruffy beard on his jaw.
“Hey, don’t sweat it. They were tough shots. You made a ton of clutch saves and kept us in the game. Their forwards were relentless, but you shut them down over and over.”
“Whatever.” He blows out a breath, his dark blue eyes a little pinched at the corners. “I can do better. I’ve gotta work on my positioning and rebound control. Nice goal at the end though.”
He doesn’t shake my hand and instead walks over to his locker and begins to unceremoniously rip off his pads and change. I laugh under my breath, shaking my head to myself. Grant is a 6’7” dark-haired behemoth of a man, taller than anyone else on the team, and grumpier than anyone else too. He really needs to loosen up, and maybe since I’m captain, I should be the one to tell him so—but not tonight.
Tonight, I’m not going to let anything get me down. The Denver Aces just won our fourth game of the season, and I want to celebrate our victory and go out drinking with the team. But first, I have contractual obligations to abide by. As the captain and the man who scored the winning goal, the press is going to want to talk to me.
“Noah!” Coach Dunaway calls from the doorway to the locker room. His head is shaved bald—a concession to his receding hairline that he made last year—and it gleams under the light as he steps inside. His voice is gruff, as usual, but I can tell he’s in a good mood as he waves me over. “Don’t change just yet. You know how the reporters and news crews love to catch you all in your uniforms, with a little sweat on your brow.”
I smirk. “And it drives the ladies wild.”
Dunaway doesn’t comment on that, but I can tell he’s amused by the way he puts his arm around me as we walk down the hallway toward the press room. He tells me what to say, knowing full well that I’m going to put my own spin on things, then lets me loose into the lion’s den. Flash bulbs spark, and reporters immediately start throwing questions out there as I take a seat at the table and reposition the microphone.
There’s a female reporter standing at the front of the group. She’s wearing a tight skirt and a flowy white blouse with three buttons undone at the top. I can see the outline of her bralette underneath, and naturally, I have to call on her first.
“Noah,” she says, flashing me a smile. “How is the team feeling after the win against the Titans tonight?”
“We feel great. We came to the ice today with a fire in our belly, and we played our asses off.”
I know Coach Dunaway is wincing as I let a curse word slip. The camera crew in the corner is filming me for a live news segment, so I’m really supposed to keep things PG, but sometimes I can’t help myself. It’s just too fun.
“Were you at all concerned with how close the game was?” the reporter asks. “For a while there, the Titans seemed to have the jump on you guys. It really didn’t look like the Aces would be coming back from that.”
“And yet we did. We’re just that good.”
Another reporter raises their hand to speak, but the woman I called on first isn’t quite done questioning me.
“Do you have any comments about the penalties that were called tonight?” she presses. “Your teammates spent a lot of time in the sin bin, and based on some of the reactions from the crowd, the refs were not making any friends tonight.”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for the referees,” I say because I have to. Referees, like most people, come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. Some of them are fair and observant, and others seem to walk around with vendettas that lead them to make some seriously bogus calls. Not that I could say as much out loud. An unspoken rule in hockey is that once the game is done, once all the points have been tallied and the players walk off the ice, the referees are not to be criticized.
It’s bad form, and it makes players look like whiny assholes when they continue to accuse a ref of making bad calls.
“It’s a tough job,” I add. “And my team doesn’t make it any easier.”
She furrows her brow. “What do you mean by that?”
I lean back in my chair and grin confidently. “Just that we have some of the fastest skaters in the NHL. To keep up with us, those referees have to be in really good shape. That’s all.”
She chuckles and opens her mouth as if she’s about to ask another question, but she gets cut off by the reporter on her left. She gives the man a dirty look, but I’m glad to move on and talk to someone else. The sooner everyone gets their questions in, the sooner I can leave and go get a drink.
And the sooner I can meet a cute puck bunny to keep my bed warm tonight.
“Where the hell did Reese go?”
I’m sitting at the bar, nursing a whiskey, scanning the crowd and pretending I’m looking for my friend—when in all honesty, I’m looking to see which hot girl at the bar smiles at me first.
“Sienna showed up and stole him away while you were in the bathroom,” Theo says. He’s sitting in the stool next to me, sipping his beer and flashing his dimples at the cute bartender.
My cheeks puff out on an exhale. “Again?”
I get a glimpse of something bright green in the corner of the bar and know that it’s Reese. He always wears green on game days. It’s some stupid superstition, and no amount of mocking from the team has made Reese give it up. He honestly thinks it helps him play better, and who am I to say it doesn’t? Even if it’s all in his head, I’m not going to question anything that keeps my team playing like a well-oiled machine.
Theo nods, wiping a droplet of condensation off his glass. “She’s got him wrapped around her finger. She says jump, and he says how high. But can you blame him? I mean, look at her.”
I don’t have to. I’ve seen Reese’s girlfriend before, and yeah, she’s hot, but she’s not nearly as attractive as the puck bunny who just sat down across the bar from us. The woman who just drew my attention has silky dark hair that cascades down her bare back. She’s wearing a loose fitting halter top that looks like it could be slid out of place by the slightest touch. When she sees me looking at her, her ruby red lips part as she smiles at me, batting her eyelashes and giving me a knowing look.
“Listen, Theo,” I say, finishing off the rest of my drink in one swig. “Great game tonight. Order another drink on me, okay? I’m going to go talk to that girl.”
Theo laughs, lifting his chin to signal the bartender. “Alright, so I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
I shrug. “I haven’t decided yet if I’m going home with her.”
But even as I say it, the girl locks eyes with me and suggestively wraps her tongue around the straw of her drink.
“On second thought,” I drawl, clapping my friend once on the shoulder. “You’re right. You’ll see me tomorrow. Have a good night.”
“You too,” Theo says, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he winks at me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I arch a brow. “That basically leaves nothing out, you know that, right?”
A smirk pulls at his lips. “Exactly.”
I walk away laughing and head over to the other side of the bar. The girl watches me the entire way, and when I approach her, she looks almost surprised that her little teasing tongue display actually worked. I saddle up next to her and ask if I can buy her a drink.
“Oh, I really shouldn’t have another,” she says, biting her lip. “This is already my third.”
“Of course. You don’t want to overdo it, a petite little thing like you.”
She giggles and brushes some hair behind her ear. “Well… I could have one more drink, if only I didn’t have to drive home.”
It’s a playful little lie—one that both of us know isn’t true. In the age of smartphones and ride share apps, nobody has to drive home from the bar. This girl has plenty of safe ways to get home that don’t involve her getting behind the wheel. But I’m happy to play along, if only to speed up our little flirtation and get to the good stuff.
“Well, you know, I was going to take a cab back to my condo in a bit. We could share a ride, and I could… drop you off at your place on the way?”
She smiles. “But see, the other problem is that my roommate is out, and she won’t be coming home until much, much later. So… I would just be sitting there, all alone and bored.”
“We don’t want that,” I say, shaking my head. “A girl like you should never be bored and alone on a night like this.” I snake my arm around her slender waist and breathe in the smell of her overly sweet perfume. “Maybe the cab driver could drop us both off at your place, and I could keep you company for a while. I’m sure between the two of us, we can come up with some way to pass the time.”
The girl—Kara—curls up next to me after I pull the condom off and toss it in the trash bin next to her bed. She presses her naked, sweaty body against mine and kisses me between the shoulder blades.
“That was amazing,” she murmurs, her voice breathy and sated.
“Glad you had fun,” I say with a chuckle. “I did too.”
“I can’t believe I have the Noah Blake in my bed right now,” she adds. “I mean, I’ve heard some of the rumors about you. Who hasn’t? But that was even better than the rumors made it sound like.”
I roll over to face her again, arching a brow. “Well, you know, you can’t believe everything you hear.”
She flushes, her cheeks reddening a little. I’m well aware of what rumors she’s talking about, but my reputation as a player has never really bothered me—especially since I’ve made sure that none of the girls I’ve hooked up with over the years have had any complaints. I never lie to them, and I make sure they get off before I do. Just because it’s only a one-time thing, that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat them like an asshole.
I’ve pretty much perfected the art of one-night stands. Speaking of which…
I untangle myself from Kara’s arms and give her a quick peck on the lips before I slide out of bed and start getting dressed.
She pouts, sitting up with the sheet pooled around her waist, her bare breast left temptingly on display. “Are you sure you have to go? You could stay the night if you want.”
“Your roommate will probably be home soon,” I tell her, digging my phone out of my pocket and opening the app to order a ride. “And I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so I really need to get some sleep.”
She slumps her shoulders but doesn’t argue the point any further. She shimmies out from under the sheets as I finish tugging my clothes on, then wraps a short silk robe around herself and pads out of the bedroom after me. When we reach her front door, I turn to face her. She licks her lips, tilting her face up a little like she’s hoping for a goodnight kiss. I give her one, but I plant it on her cheek instead of her mouth.
“Goodnight,” I tell her. “Sweet dreams.”
And then I’m out the door.
It takes less than a minute for my ride to pull up, and I give him the address of my condo building in LoDo, then make idle conversation with him until he drops me off. There’s no doorman on duty this late at night, and the lobby is quiet as I walk toward the elevator and take it up to the top floor.
Inside my condo, I toss my bag down and flip on the light in the kitchen. It’s late, and I actually do have a pretty early morning tomorrow, but I’m not really tired yet. So I pour myself a glass of water, take it with me to the couch, and settle in.
Scrolling through my phone, I check out a few pieces of coverage about tonight’s game, and my finger hovers over the screen as I stop on a tabloid article that pops up. It’s from a gossip magazine, and there’s a picture of me out on the town with my boys, my dark brown hair styled messily as I chat up a pretty blonde. The headline above the photo reads, Will Noah Blake Ever Find the One and Settle Down?
A grin tugs at my lips.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I say as I toss my phone onto the couch and turn on the TV.
After all, there’s a reason they call it settling. I’ve got everything I need already, and I can’t see why that would ever change.
