On the ice during our away game, I skate like I’ve never skated before.
The whole game, I’ve been playing like it’s the last game in the Stanley Cup Finals, shooting every chance I get and body checking as if my life depends on it. Still, I’ve managed to stay out of the penalty box because even though my drive to win is strong, I’m not making any stupid mistakes or letting my aggression get the better of me.
The same can’t be said for the other team though. One of the players on the Falcons’ team gets a penalty for hooking, and the ref blows his whistle immediately. The home team crowd boos as he’s sent to the penalty box, and there’s a short break in play as those watching at home are subjected to a commercial or two. I take the opportunity to catch my breath and glance around at my teammates, who’ve also been playing their hearts out all night.
A smile spreads across my face.
This is the thing I love most in the world, and I know it’s just as important to all of them too. It’s a damn dream come true to get to play this game professionally, and even though my parents might not see it the same way, I couldn’t be happier with the way my life has turned out.
Just before the game starts up again, I look up into the stands, and there she is. Margo. She’s sitting a few rows up, next to Ted, dressed in a blue, black, and white jersey. She mentioned to me earlier that this would be the first hockey game she’s ever been to, and seeing her wearing the Denver Aces colors turns me on like no other. Then I catch a glimpse of the embroidered 6 on her jersey, and something tightens in my chest.
It’s Sawyer’s number, not mine. Not 17.
I don’t think she purchased the jersey herself. It looks oversized and a little frayed. It’s probably one of Ted’s old ones that he let her borrow, but even so, seeing her wearing my teammate’s number instead of mine sends a lightning bolt of jealousy down my spine.
The ref blows the whistle to signal the resumption of play, and I tear my gaze away from Margo and focus my eyes on the puck, waiting for it to drop. There are less than two minutes left in the game, and we’re one point ahead. We have two ways to ensure a win: keep the other team from scoring at all costs, or score once more ourselves. As captain and team center, I personally have an affinity for going on the offensive instead of the defensive.
And soon enough, I get my chance.
With just a minute left in the period, the center for the Falcons coughs up the puck, and I pounce on the opportunity. I dart toward their zone, stickhandling past the defense with ease. The goaltender tries to cut me off, but I’m too quick for him. He ventures out of the crease, ready to challenge me. I know I can’t score from this tight angle, so I look for an opening.
Thankfully, I hear a familiar voice calling out to me.
Theo’s skating up on my left flank, his stick at the ready. I fake a shot to fool the goalie and then pass the puck over to Theo. He winds up his stick and unleashes a blistering slapshot that beats the goalie clean. The puck goes soaring into the back of the net, triggering screams of approval from the few Denver Aces fans in the building. They’re outnumbered since this is an away game, but they still cheer loud enough to fill the arena with sounds of victory.
I side-tackle Theo and wrap an arm around him, giving him a little shake. “Fuck, yes! Beautiful shot!”
“That’s how we do it!” he shouts as the rest of our team comes to join in on the celebration. Owen Ashford, another one of our D-men, crashes into both me and Theo with a bear hug, and Reese is right behind him.
There are only about forty seconds left on the clock when play resumes, and there’s virtually no chance that the Falcons can score two goals in that time. We don’t let up or get complacent, though, refusing to let them have even one goal. Once the game is officially over, we congratulate each other, slapping helmets and clapping each other on the back. Then I lead the others as we shake hands with the other team at center ice.
Everyone is riding high as we head into the locker rooms to clean up, and I am too… although the image of Margo wearing Sawyer’s number sticks in my brain like a thorn, cutting into the excitement of our win. My muscles are sore, I’m hungry, and I’m also sweaty as hell, so I strip off my pads and hit the showers quickly. After I put on clean clothes, Theo asks if I want to grab a drink before calling it a night.
“Uh, yeah. But I need to eat first,” I say, not really sure I’m feeling it tonight. “Let me see how I feel once we get back to the hotel.”
He and the rest of the team leave together, heading for the team bus that will take us back to the hotel. But instead of following them, I linger for a little while. I could lie to myself and say that I’m just moving slow after the exertion of the game, but that’s bullshit and I know it. The truth is, I want to see Margo.
Hefting my bag over my shoulder, I leave the locker room, heading through the back hallways of the arena.
As I step outside, I spot Margo near the door, her blonde hair glinting under the lights in the parking lot. She’s chatting with Ted, and I hang back until it seems like their conversation is wrapping up. When he starts to walk away, rounding the corner of the building toward where the bus is likely waiting, I hurry to catch up with Margo before she follows him.
She notices me as Ted walks away, and I smile broadly.
“So,” I say once I’m close enough for her to hear me. “Tell me the truth, was that the best hockey game you’ve ever seen in your life?”
“It’s the only hockey game I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I smirk. “But that means, by default, it was also the best game you’ve ever seen.”
She grins, tilting her head to the side as if conceding my point. “It was very exciting, actually. And you played really well. Congrats on the win. I got a picture of you passing the puck to Theo at the end there. Plus one of him just before he made the last goal. They’re a little blurry since I took them on my phone, but I still think they’ll make good social media posts.”
“That’s great.” I run a hand through my hair, which is still damp from the shower. “And speaking of promotional material… I have something for you.”
I drop my game bag at my feet and bend down to root around inside. When I feel the thick fabric of one of my spare jerseys, I take it out and hold it out to her. She frowns, looking down at it in confusion.
“You’ve got the wrong number on,” I explain. “You should be wearing this one.”
“You mean I should be wearing your number,” she says, pursing her bow-shaped lips.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” I say, unable to keep the possessive note out of my voice. I hand the jersey over to her, and she takes it. “You should wear this one to the next game. I think it’ll look really sexy on you. Way hotter than one of Ted’s old jerseys with Sawyer’s number on it, that’s for sure.”
Her gaze flashes up to mine, and even in the dim light of the parking lot, I can see the flush in her cheeks. “Won’t it be weird if I wear your jersey?”
I can’t resist taking a step closer to her, and since everyone else on the team is already on the bus and can’t see us, I take the chance to trail my knuckles down the side of her face.
“It would only be weird if there was something between us,” I say, my voice low as my eyes bounce between hers. “And you’ve made it clear that there isn’t. That there won’t be. So… it’s not weird at all, right?”
Her breath catches as I trace her jaw with my fingertips, her pulse fluttering in her neck. She swallows, then nods. “Right. There’s nothing. So it won’t be weird. I’ll… I’ll think about wearing it, then.”
Satisfaction roars through me, almost as potent as the rush of victory from winning the game.
Resting two fingers under her chin, I tilt her face up just a little, allowing myself a single long moment to take in the way her pupils dilate, edging out the light gray color of her irises. Then I step back, opening up space between us.
“We should go,” I say, tilting my chin in the direction Ted went.
“Yeah.” The word comes out raspy, and the sound goes straight to my cock. She clears her throat, then nods. “Yeah. We should.”
Resisting the urge to wrap my fingers around her hair and kiss her, I pick up my bag and settle the strap on my shoulder.
“After you,” I tell her, gesturing with one hand.
We’re the last to board the bus, and just as I expected, Margo sits up front with Ted. Over the din of conversation, I can hear her discussing various ways that social media can work in synergy with the more traditional marketing efforts for the team, and I grin.
I like how hard she works. I’ve always given every fucking thing I have on the ice, and even though her skill is in social media and not hockey, I can relate to the drive she clearly has to be the best at what she does.
Back at the hotel, I end up ordering something healthy from room service and spending time by myself instead of going out with the team for a drink. I’m not only tired from the game, but I’m also not interested in most of my usual post-game rituals right now. I wouldn’t mind celebrating our win with the others, but I definitely don’t have plans to bring anyone back to my room with me. And I can always break into the mini bar in my hotel room if I decide I want something stronger than water.
When I text Theo to let him know I won’t be going, all I get back is a series of question marks and an emoji of an exploding head. I know there’s a good chance the rest of the team is confused by my decision not to join them. They’re probably talking about me right now—wondering if I’m sick or something. Because there’s no other explanation for why I would decide to spend a night alone rather than go out with them.
Except… there is a reason. Margo.
I realized sometime after the game that the reason I played so well tonight wasn’t because I’d been practicing more or because the other team was under-prepared.
It was because of her. I was trying to impress her.
Because I’m starting to really fucking like this girl.
At first, it was partly about the thrill of the chase, and my excitement at finding the hot as hell mystery woman I didn’t think I’d ever see again. But the more I get to know her, the more attracted to her I become. Honestly, I’m a little out of my depth here, since I’m not used to pursuing someone and being constantly rebuffed.
But I can’t shake the feeling that if she’d give me a chance, if I can prove to her that I’m worth letting her guard down for…
It would be something incredible.
