I KNEW I LIKED HOCKEY, but I didn’t realize until just now how much I actually love hockey.
The pregame show I got with the hot suit guy taking off his shirt right in front of me in the storeroom, the free T-shirt he ogled me in, and now front row seats all made even the first two periods in the arena pretty amazing.
Despite my dud date. Ben is definitely drunk, definitely not as funny as he thinks he is, and he doesn’t know much about hockey. And he won’t shut up while I try to watch.
All of which really sucks. I want to date. I want to fall in love. I wanted to find the one.
Okay, that’s what I tell my mother. And myself when I’m being less than totally honest.
I do want to date. But I’m less focused on love and more interested in some hot, make-me-want-to-get-naked-right-now chemistry. That would be a nice start. I’d love to meet someone who can get me all hot and tingly just with a look. Who can simply touch my hand and make my heart beat faster. Who will lean over and whisper something dirty in my ear in public. Who can make my panties wet with a single naughty text.
Like the guy in the suit earlier.
Yes, he was still on my mind. I’d felt my pulse speed up when I’d first turned around and met his gaze when he’d been offering me the tickets. And watching him take his shirt off? Hot? Tingly? Wet panties? Check, check, and freaking check.
“So you guys wanna go to the sports bar around the corner after the game?” Ben asks, his words slurring slightly.
Yeah, that someone is not going to be Ben.
“I really don’t,” I tell him honestly.
Looks like another night with my romance novels and my vibrator.
I glance back at the ice. I might have to download a hockey romance tonight though.
I’ve now seen two periods of the game between the Chicago Racketeers and the Minnesota Beavers, and I am all in on being one of the Racketeers biggest fans.
Or maybe I’m just going to be one of Crew McNeill’s biggest fans.
The Chicago Racketeers are having a great season, so I’ve been told. And it’s because of Crew, the team’s high scorer so far this season, my best friend’s younger brother. So I’ve been told.
Crew was just traded to the Racketeers. He played for the Seattle Storm for the past two seasons, but he’s always wanted to return to his home team. His family is thrilled and, according to Luna, he’s got very high hopes for this season and beyond in Chicago.
He’s definitely playing like a man on a mission tonight. He’s already scored both of the goals for the Racketeers.
“What is Crew’s position again?” I ask Luna, who is sitting next to me right behind the glass at the game.
My best friend grins at me. She knows everything about hockey and tolerates the fact that I know almost nothing about the game. I know their uniform shirts are called jerseys, the black thing they hit is called a puck, and the sticks they use are called, well, hockey sticks.
She’s been my ride or die since we were assigned roommates our freshman year at Columbia College in Chicago and likes me because…I’m not always sure why, because we’re pretty different. But I love the silvery-haired, crystal-loving, aura-reading girl who always has my back.
Before I left for college, my mother told me to find the loudest person in the room and talk to her. That she would pave the way for an introverted person like me, and for once, my mother’s advice had actually worked. I didn’t even have to go looking for her, because the minute my brand new roommate opened her mouth, I knew I’d found her. Luna told me the universe had assigned us to Room 204 because our energies needed each other. Our astrological signs aligned and my earth sign grounded her air.
I still don’t know how I feel about all of that, but she’s amazing, and I love her like a sister.
“He’s the center,” Luna tells me.
She points, but I know exactly where Crew is. I haven’t been able to stop watching him. I’ve known this guy as long as I’ve known Luna. He’s her high-energy, charming but annoying little brother. At least that’s what I’ve always thought.
Tonight I’ve been thinking very different thoughts about Crew McNeill.
He’s no longer a skinny high school kid eating everything in sight. It’s been three years since I’ve seen him in person. He seems taller and broader, though, of course, he’s wearing skates and pads so some of that might be deceptive. He’s also moving so fast it’s hard to really tell. But there’s something about him that just seems bigger. He moves with confidence, determination, and grace.
“He’s really good,” I say unnecessarily.
But Luna just laughs. She’s very proud of her baby brother. “I know. He’s worked his ass off, and he’s thrilled to be able to show it off in front of his home crowd.”
“I’m so happy for him,” I say. Or maybe I kind of murmur it, because I’m enthralled. That’s the perfect word. I can’t believe how these guys move on the ice. It’s so fast, yet controlled. Aggressive, but somehow graceful.
Why haven’t I been watching hockey constantly? “These are great seats,” I add. “Can you believe that guy just handed them to me?”
We’re right behind the player box. I can almost reach out and touch some of them.
“Hey, do you want a beer or something?” Ben asks.
I look at him and wish, again, that he’d just stop talking.
He’s reasonably attractive. He has dark hair and he’s wearing a plaid shirt and glasses. A little nerdy, but then I am too. He’s much more my type than a hockey player. Or so I thought. Luna’s been out with his roommate Kyle twice, and they thought this would be a great set-up.
It should have been.
But then the hot suit guy took his shirt off and now Crew is being a hockey star and…
Not that I’m thinking about Crew as my type. But he could be, a little voice in my head whispers. Temporarily, at least.
I almost laugh at that. I’m not really a temporarily type of girl. But that’s exactly the kind of thing the heroines in my romances think. I tend to write women in my short, serial fiction that are very different from myself. Confident, sexy women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it. Even with men who are the brothers of their best friends, and who have puck bunnies in every city throwing their panties at them.
“Dani? Beer?” Ben asks.
Right. I’m on a date. I should really probably pay attention to him for a little while. Though really the last thing Ben needs is more beer.
“Sure, thanks,” I say and force a smile.
I turn to Luna and raise my eyebrows at her. I’m asking for help, but I don’t even know why. I should at least be making an effort with Ben, but mostly I just want him to disappear so I can allow myself to be enthralled by Crew without interruption. But the horn sounds ending the period and the players are leaving the ice for the locker room anyway.
Luna turns to her date sitting on her right. “I’d like a beer too, Kyle. Go with Ben and grab one for me, will you? Thanks.”
Kyle straightens up immediately. “Of course. What kind of beer?”
He’s practically falling all over himself to please Luna. Luna is the type of woman that men fall over themselves for all the time. She’s gorgeous, fun, adventurous, and always a bit of a surprise. Even to those of us who know her and love her.
Why are we friends again? But I smile as I think it.
The guys go to the concession stand and are back before the intermission ends.
“They really do some price gouging on these beers,” Ben says with a frown as he hands me a plastic cup.
I feel compelled to offer to pay for it. “I can send you money for it,” I say, wanting to be polite.
“No, it’s fine. Totally fine.” He shakes his head but I don’t think it’s fine. That is obvious when he adds, “These aren’t even cold. Unbelievable.”
We manage to make small talk, and I keep my attention on Ben for several minutes consecutively. Look at me being a great date. He probably can’t even tell I’m barely registering his story about his cat’s jumping skills.
The team skates back onto the ice, thankfully, just as Ben and I seem to be running out of conversation topics. So, we have about ten minutes of stuff to chat about. Fantastic. I mean, I like cats, but really?
As the team does a couple of laps getting ready for the third period, the jumbotron flashes with the Kiss Cam.
I grin. I love those. I do love love. I love watching couples in love grin up at the camera, then grin at one another, and not hesitate to show off their devotion by leaning in and kissing. It’s so sweet.
The only way a Kiss Cam can get better is if someone drops to one knee and proposes. Gah. That’s the best.
“Ooh, maybe we’ll see a proposal tonight,” I say to no one in particular.
I know Luna rolls her eyes without even looking at her, but she’s also smiling affectionately about my romantic streak.
Ben just takes another drink of beer.
A couple in their fifties are first. They do the typical grin, lean, kiss.
Then another couple flashes on the screen.
Oh.
Shit.
That’s me and Ben.
Um…I turn to him. He hasn’t even noticed. He’s actually looking in the opposite direction, his beer to his lips again.
“Ben,” I hiss, smiling because my face is four hundred times its usual size and my hair suddenly doesn’t look as good as it did in my bathroom mirror at home. Smooth auburn waves now look like ginger frizz. Funny how a gigantic screen can bring out all the flaws.
“Yeah?” he asks, not looking at me.
“Kiss me,” I say, quickly.
“Huh?” He does turn to me now. But he’s grinning. “You want me to kiss you?”
“Kiss. Cam,” I say between clenched teeth and awkwardly smiling lips.
He leans in and I’m hit by the smell of beer. I don’t want to kiss him is my first thought. I really don’t. Not even for my one and only chance on the Kiss Cam.
But I close my eyes and pucker up.
The next thing I feel is Ben shift, and the brush of what feels like…fur?
My eyelids pop open and all I see for a second is what looks like a black and silver shag carpet. But I look up and realize that Sammy the Malamute, the Racketeers mascot, is standing just on the other side of Ben.
He’s miming with his paws clenched into fists that he wants to fight Ben.
What’s going on?
Ben has a beer in one hand, but he’s holding his other up in surrender. He’s kind of smiling but also looks very confused.
Sammy points at me, then at his mouth.
He’s a dog, who’s dressed like a thirties gangster, wearing a vest and tie and a fedora. So, I guess I could kiss him? Kind of? Pretend for the camera? Obviously this is some kind of set-up for laughs.
Fine, I’ll play along. It’ll save me from Ben’s beer breath. And from giving him any ideas about any kissing that might happen later after the game.
Sammy reaches out and grabs my hand in his furry paw. I take it, grateful to be saved by a man in a full body dog costume. How often do you get to say that?
He pulls me to my feet and I shove my beer into Ben’s hand, starting to climb over his skinny legs. The crowd watching the jumbotron is screaming their approval.
Hell, I’m screaming my approval. Internally, of course. I’m not really an out loud screamer.
But this is great. If I have to be on a Kiss Cam with a stranger, this is how I want it to go.
It could be an epic save. It would be an epic save. Except stepping over Ben’s knees proves to be more awkward and difficult than I expect. My knees bump against Ben’s and my feet tangle with his. He is now juggling two beers and trying desperately to keep them from spilling. One cup tips precariously. So do I.
Sammy’s paw is too big around his real hand to have a good grip on me. Ben is close but his hand has too good a grip on the beer. There’s no one to save me as I pitch forward, landing face down across Ben’s lap, ass in the air, and I, of course, smack my forehead on the empty seat next to Ben.
If my head didn’t instantly hurt and this wasn’t humiliating—and he wasn’t more concerned about the beer he’s holding and we were both different people—this would be the perfect position for Ben to spank me.
Why did I think that? Again, that’s something my fictional girls are into. I’ve never been spanked.
Then it gets worse. I feel something wet soak into the seat of my cutest high-waisted jeans.
Oh my God, Ben just spilled beer on my ass. And contrary to his earlier complaint, it is cold.
The previously cheering crowd now gasps collectively.
Yeah, there are a lot of things that look really bad on a jumbotron. A wet ass is one of them, I can assume. Since I’m facedown staring at the concrete floor under our seats and the disgusting collection of popcorn kernels, chewed up gum wads, and spilled beer, I can’t confirm it myself.
“Holy shit, dude,” Sammy says. “That looked gnarly. Are you okay?”
I’m not sure that’s the voice I would have imagined for a mobster Malamute. He sounds like a teen surfer. In Chicago. In October.
I grip my throbbing head. Am I okay? I’m not really sure, to be totally honest.
Maybe it’s the mild concussion that makes the next few moments chaotic and disorienting. I think I hear Ben say, “Dammit.” Maybe that’s concern over my fall. More likely he’s lamenting his spilled beer.
I definitely hear Luna say, “Dani! Oh my God! Are you okay? Get her up you dumbass!” I don’t know if that’s directed at Ben or Sammy. Or both.
Then I hear a deep, velvety voice say, “Let me through.”
I also hear another deep male voice say, “Jesus, Dani, I was gonna come talk to you after the game. You didn’t have to bust your head open to get my attention.”
Crew.
That’s Crew’s voice. Why isn’t he on the ice? Before I can process that fact, two big hands grasp me by my hips and haul me upright in one smooth motion.
My head swims and I think about throwing up for a second. But a non-kiss on the Kiss Cam, a fall, and a concussion are my limit for public humiliation.
Then I turn and face the man who just pulled me out of Ben’s lap. It isn’t Crew. It’s a total stranger.
With the most gorgeous brown eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.
He’s cupping my face, staring into my eyes with a mix of concern and something that looks a little like…surprise? Why is he surprised? I don’t know this man. But damn, I kind of want to.
He’s at least six inches taller than I am, but he’s leaning in to look at me. His thumbs stroke over my jaw, and I feel tingles shoot down my neck and arms. Who is this gorgeous man, and why is he touching me? Why isn’t he touching me more? I think I want him to touch me more.
“Can you tell me how you feel?” Brown Eyes asks, his voice low.
“Woozy.” I realize I’m gripping the lapels of his suit jacket. But I don’t think it’s because I’m woozy. I think I want him to keep standing close to me.
The corner of his mouth curls. “That seems about right. Are you in a lot of pain?” Those gentle but strong fingers are shifting my carefully constructed waves off of my forehead, probing along the hairline.
“My head hurts a little but not terribly.”
The light touch drifts over my flushed skin, over my temples and lands on my cheeks, intriguingly close to my lips.
“Do you know where you are?” he asks.
I nod, then wince. “At the Racketeers game watching Crew McNeill. Number seventeen. He just got drafted from Seattle. I’m here with his sister, Luna. He’s already scored twice.”
The guy studying me laughs, and I hear Ben behind me say, “Why am I here again?”
But I also hear Crew say, “Hey, Doc, she okay?”
Doc?
The guy holding me nods. He drops his hands from my cheeks so quickly I sway forward on my feet a little.
He steadies me with a grip on my elbow. “I think she’ll be fine.”
“Then hand her over.”
Suddenly people are moving and Crew is pushing in to stand in front of me. Then his hands are cupping my face. This is a lot of face cupping for a woman like me. I would like to be face cupped more often.
“Hey, Dani.” He’s grinning at me.
He might be a lot bigger than I remember, but I know that grin. His shoulder pads have nudged Ben further back from me, and his long unruly hair is poking out from under his helmet. His green eyes are pinned on me.
“Hey, Crew.” Is my voice breathless because I have a concussion?
He leans in a little. “What’s your date’s name?”
“Um…” No, I’m breathless because Crew McNeill is not just Luna’s little brother anymore. “I don’t remember.”
His grin grows. “That’s the right answer.”
Then he kisses me.
I definitely have a concussion because Crew McNeill is in the stands kissing me, and all of the people who have been watching this mini-soap opera unfold suddenly roar their approval as one.
It’s loud and the vibrations ripple through me and my heart starts pounding.
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him right back. Like I’ve never been kissed before. Like people kiss in the rom-com movies I gobble up like the macarons I inhale while I watch them. Like people kiss in all the deliciously dirty romance novels I read. Like people kiss in the steamy short stories I write.
Okay, not quite like that. We’re fully clothed.
But now that I’ve kissed him, I want to kiss him like all of those stories that are in my head.
Hello even wetter panties.
Yes, this is what I want. Tingles, and heat, and dirty thoughts, and big hands on me. And now it’s happened with three guys in one night. Within one hour.
And holy crap. One of them is Crew McNeill.
Someone clears his throat behind me.
You’d think that would be my date, what’s-his-name. But it’s the tall man with the medium brown skin and big hands and gorgeous eyes that Crew called “Doc”.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, McNeill?” he asks.
Crew finally pulls back.
I realize his hands have left my face and are now resting on my ass. My beer-soaked ass.
He grins at me as he squeezes that ass, then lifts his hand, runs a thumb over his bottom lip and says, “Had to be sure the girl got a proper kiss for the Kiss Cam.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a real gentleman,” “Doc” says dryly.
“Part of my job is fan relations,” Crew says, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Not sure that’s what they mean by that.” Doc’s big hand reaches across my shoulder and shoves Crew. “Get back on the ice.”
Crew laughs and starts to back up. “See you after the game, Dani.”
He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
I just nod. I mean, what woman would say no to that?
I watch him step back out onto the ice and skate toward the middle of the rink. It isn’t until that moment that I realize the game has been delayed because of all of this. Because of Crew’s kiss. Our kiss. I turn wide eyes to Luna.
She’s staring at me with a huge grin. What the hell was that? She mouths.
That was a dream come true. But I just shake my head.
“Are you okay? Really?” the man behind me asks.
I turn to look at him and nod. “I think so.”
“Can I check in with you after the game before you go home? Just to be sure?”
I must give him a puzzled look as I say, “Sure. I guess so.”
“I’m the team physician. Michael Hughes.” He holds out a hand and I take it.
He doesn’t shake my hand though, he just gives me a little squeeze.
Another big, hot hand. I actually sigh happily.
“I’d love to see you before you leave,” he says.
Damn, I really love his eyes.
See both of these men after the game? Um… yes.
“So, I guess I’ll just catch an Uber,” Ben says from behind Michael.
The doctor’s body is completely blocking me from my date. And he doesn’t move even after Ben speaks.
“Yeah, you should do that,” Luna says.
“I’ve got her,” Michael adds.
Dr. Michael Hughes has me.
My stomach does a flip. I think I’m fine with Dr. Michael Hughes having me.
Wade (Sammy the Malamute)
I pull the earpiece out of my ear with a grimace.
I don’t know if it’s that I’m a little high or if it’s that Mr. Armstrong is yelling so loud that it’s not transmitting properly, but I can’t understand a thing he’s saying besides the word “fuck” repeatedly.
I don’t know what the hell is going on.
I do know that taking three edibles before coming to work was probably a bad idea.
I also know that Mr. Armstrong is a scary motherfucker.
