I TAKE my time gliding out onto the ice for warm-ups. War is already glaring at New York’s lineup, likely scrolling through his mental list of their weaknesses. He loves to taunt. Loves to throw people off their game. More than anything, he loves to fight.
I don’t get to fight anyone. Not that I’ve ever felt the rush to punch an opponent in the face. I play for the thrill of the game, the rush of a save, the sound of a rowdy crowd when I stop a puck. I like bringing pleasure to those around me.
Today, all the excitement that comes with the game is missing. And I’d really like to fight someone.
“Brooks, drop and give us a hundred!” Coach bellows without even looking up from his iPad as he sits on his end of the bench.
“What the hell has gotten into him?” War groans, tossing his head back. “He’s been riding your ass all week.”
Aiden shakes his head and does a fucking spin in front of me. “He’s taking this Sara thing to the extreme.” His voice is quiet enough that I’m the only one who hears him.
I drop my stick to the ice and go down with it, then grunt out a loud one. I keep up the loud counting as I go, and when the crowd behind the net counts along with me, I know this will be all over social media tomorrow. Asshole wants to make me a monkey, then I’ll play along for now.
I finish off my set, and when I hop to my feet, the crowd cheers. Half a dozen women in the section ask if I’m single or beg for my number. Even more turn around and show off the number 13 on their backs.
With a polite nod to the stands, I turn to the bench and zero in on the only girl who’s ever made my pulse race at the sight of her wearing my jersey.
Sara with my number on her back and my name across her shoulders is quite literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Would have been hotter if she’d actually worn it for me.
She smiles and waves at me. Behind her, Coach is glowering, so I tap my fingers against my heart and point at her. That goddamn smile, the most beautiful sight in the world, grows wider, and her cheeks go rosy pink.
Parker skates up and stops short, spraying me with a bit of ice. “I know that look.”
I shake my head but don’t take my attention off Sara. This guy has no room to talk. He fell in love with my sister-in-law’s roommate last year. On the nights she came to watch him play, he could barely walk straight, let alone stay up on his damn skates.
“Just focus on New York and keep them out of my goal.”
With a grin, he skates off to get into position.
Tonight’s game is a big one. Boston and New York will never not be rivals in any sport, but the personal connection here adds even more pressure. Seb’s brother’s kid plays for New York, and much like I’m known as the saint, Vin is known as the asshole. He’s intentionally gone after Aiden on the ice multiple times. Only reason he hasn’t come for me is because I never get in fights.
Nothing he can say will draw me out of my net. He knows it too, so for the most part, he leaves his jabs for after the game. As if dealing with his dirty plays on the ice isn’t enough, Coach forces us all to meet up for a late dinner or a drink when the game’s over. For years I’ve done my best to be kind, to bite my tongue when he mutters insults out of Seb’s earshot. He wouldn’t dare be a blatant asshole in front of our uncle. He wouldn’t want him to know what a huge disappointment he is. But if Seb steps away to use the bathroom or to order another round, it’s guaranteed his true colors shine.
He’s a winger, an instigator like War, but not nearly as good on the ice, and he’s far more volatile.
The moment the puck drops, I clutch my stick and zero in on the game. War gets control almost immediately and rushes forward, darting past New York’s center and right winger. Vin is right on his heels, slicing with his stick at the back of War’s skates.
“Where’s the fucking penalty?” I groan as he knicks him.
War shoots him a warning look, his gaze sharp, but Vin has never been good at heeding sense. He slices at War again, and this time he makes contact with the back of his skate, and War goes down.
The penalty is called, but it’s too late. War is already up, tossing his stick and gloves, fists up and ready for the fight. Thirty seconds in, and Vin’s already up to his dirty tricks. This is gonna be a long night.
The period ends zero-zero and our guys are dragging. I skate off the ice and when I get to the tunnel, tugging at my helmet, Sara is already holding a bottle of water out to me.
“Thanks.” With a long breath out, I tip my head back, then I pour the water down my throat. Next, she comes at me with a towel, like she’s going to swipe at the sweat on my face and neck. It may be cold in the arena, but between the compression shorts and shirt, my gear, and all the hustling I do, I burn up during the games. Before she can get close, I duck out of the way and reach for the towel. I have no doubt that I stink already, and I don’t need her anywhere near me in this state.
She dodges me and pulls the towel into her chest. “All the guys smell horrific, but not you. You always smell clean. How is that possible?”
I frown at her, but when she pushes closer, I don’t shy away this time. With a sweet smile, she wipes at my face. It’s weird being cared for, being touched so openly, but I don’t exactly hate it. In fact, I might like it too much.
When she’s finished, she pulls back, assesses me, then angles in again and presses her lips to my cheek. “There, now you’re perfect.”
This time when she backs up, I hover where I am and stare at her like an idiot. She only smiles back, looking all sorts of pretty, with a big smile on those pink lips. Each time she inhales, my jersey tightens slightly over her breasts, killing a few more of my brain cells.
The guys are all shuffling past us, heading toward the locker room. Despite the way it felt as if time has been standing still, it’s been mere seconds, and I’m already wishing I could stay with her rather than head to the locker room with everyone else.
“There’s a reason puck bunnies aren’t allowed back here, Ms. Case,” Coach says.
Those words—puck bunnies—shake me from my impure thoughts and instantly send me into a rage. Hands gripping my stick in front of me, I glare at him. “What did you just say?”
His smug smile doesn’t falter. He can’t even imagine a world where I’d stand up to him. “You heard me. If she’s going to act like your girlfriend, then she should be sitting with the WAGs.” He points back toward the arena.
With smoke billowing out of my ears, I stalk toward him, all sense gone.
Most of the guys have disappeared to the locker room, but the ones who are still here go silent, though the arena is still buzzing.
“The only reason you’re not on the ground right now begging me for mercy is because I care about Aunt Zoe,” I grit out. “But this is your one and only warning. Keep my girlfriend’s name out of your mouth, or you’ll be missing teeth the next time you open it.”
I shove past him, knocking him into the cement wall with my shoulder. Whatever he hoped to accomplish with that little comment has surely backfired, because now the whole team knows we have a problem. And when it comes down to it, my fucking last name will always be synonymous with this team, whereas his could easily be erased.
The assistant coaches, including Fitz, the goaltending coach, are all gaping. But not one of them says a thing.
I stalk past War and head to the locker room, knowing I need to get my temper under control. Adrenaline may have me ready to fight, but I need to save it for the ice.
War rushes to catch up to me and grabs my shoulder. “You and I are going out after the game, and you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on with you and Coach.”
I suck in a deep breath and shake my head. “Forget it.”
“The whole team is watching. McGreevey may be the captain, but that’s only because you can’t be. We all know you’re our leader. And if there’s trouble between you and coach, you need to fucking figure it out. The guys are only going to follow one of you.”
“They should follow him,” I grunt. “He’s the coach.” I glance back in the direction of the rink, where Seb is having a heated discussion with Fitz. People are already starting to talk. To worry. The plan is working. “For now, at least,” I mutter under my breath.
We win the game two-one, and War practically drags me out of the locker room with threats that he’ll talk to Gavin if I don’t tell him what the hell is going on. Fortunately, when we step out into the hallway, Sara is waiting, ready to lead me to the press. I’ve never been so excited to answer rapid-fire questions in my life.
I grin at War and slap his shoulder. “We’ll catch up later.” With that, I’m striding toward Sara.
“Sar,” he hollers. “Drag him out when he’s done.”
With a laugh at my best friend, I drop my head, but I don’t slow.
My fake girlfriend falls into step with me, giving me a sideways glance. “You okay?”
I slide my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because you almost got into a fistfight with your coach tonight.”
Brow cocked, I study her, but I don’t stop moving. “He can’t talk to you like that.”
Sara’s lips twist to the side in a small smile, and she reaches for my arm, looping her hand within it.
“What are you doing?” I dip my chin and take in the way her hand looks against the dark fabric of my suit.
She bites her lip. “When you go all protective boyfriend like that, it turns me on, and since I can’t kiss you, I’ll take what I can get.”
My heart trips over itself at her words. Fuck, this girl and her honesty. She has no idea what she does to me. Not an inkling that the idea of her lips on mine, the fact that she’s even thought about it, makes me want to pin her against the wall and claim her.
Press be damned. Career be damned. My entire life plan, including waiting until I retire, be damned.
But one look into those beautiful blue eyes swimming with mischief has me backpedaling. Because my uncle may be an asshole, but he was right about one thing. She deserves better than that.
She deserves better than me.
“Oh, by the way, Lake is here, so when we’re done with the press, we are totally going out.”
Clasping the hand she still has wrapped around my arm, I suppress a groan. I can’t deny her. Because while she’s mine, I’ll give her every damn thing she asks for, and hanging out with her favorite singer is definitely not negotiable.
If only her favorite singer wasn’t married to the father of one of my teammates. I can guarantee that wherever we end up, War will be there too, and he’s not going to let go of his little quest to get to the bottom of what’s going on with me.
