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Buy Direct. Print Audio Signed Paperback. One look and I know⦠this chick hates me. I should walk away , find some puck bunny to gleefully sit on my lap and tell me what a big, hot, hockey stud I am--totally true, BTW.
Especially when the air starts to sizzle and pop every time we get within ten feet of each other. Like she already knew how it could be between us. Also in series. This is gonna hurt. Bending to retrieve the cup is bad enough but coming back up has me breaking out in a cold sweat.
Everything aches. My knuckles are swollen and split. My shoulder feels like someone tried to yank my arm out of the socket. And my kneesβdamn, guys, sorry. We knew going in this game would be rough. Even without a team grudge like the one we were up against tonight with the Epics, hockey is a physical sport.
Someone real. Someone they trust to listen to how messed up things got. But still⦠no bunnies. I heave a breath and round the corner to the semi-private waiting room where Greg Baxter, my team captain, texted that his little sister is currently freaking out.
Her hair is this short spill of fiery waves around her face. And that face. I swear my heart just threw in an extra beat. My feet are moving double time. Her arms and face are covered in pale freckles, and her lips are full and wide. I want to. I need to. Time fucking slows and I feel each heavy pump of my heart. Those honey-browns meet mine, and something that feels a lot like recognition slams into me with the force of a two-hundred-pound defenseman.