“You should park closer.Fans can be rowdy after a game,” he scolds me.
“Right.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.“How did the car run?You need a new one,” he adds before I can answer his first question.
I sigh and dig my keys out of my bag.“I’ll add it to the list.”
He grunts as I unlock the door and set my things on the passenger seat.When I straighten, he’s looking across the parking lot.
“The article is turning out great.The interview yesterday was a big help.Thanks.I promise to make you look good,” I tell him.
When he looks back at me, something flickers in his eyes, something I don’t think he meant for me to see.Vulnerability.Gratitude.Maybe even the tiniest spark of trust.
The air between us shifts.I feel it, electric and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.His gaze drops to my mouth, and heat races through me so fast that I have to grip my pen to keep from fidgeting.
For a second, I think he’s going to close the distance between us.
Then he leans back, shutters slamming down.“Drive safe,” he mutters.
I should feel dismissed.Instead, I feel protected.
I nod and climb behind the wheel.I refuse to look back at him as I shift into drive and pull out into the stream of cars still pouring out of the parking lot.
When I finally glance in the rearview mirror, Declan is still standing there, staring after me.
Oh, crap, I’m in way over my head with Declan Hayes.
And God help me, I don’t want out.
Chapter Six
Declan
Game day.
It’s the only time I feel steady.The noise of the crowd, the sting of cold air, and the rush of blades on ice drown everything else out.Out here, I don’t have to talk.I don’t have to explain.I simply play.
Except tonight, I can’t seem to focus.
That’s a lie; I’ve been distracted for far longer than tonight.
I haven’t seen Elle in a few days, and I crave her presence.Her sweet smiles, the floral perfume she always wears, the way her eyes spark when we spar, and how she melts against me when I kiss her.
I’ve been driving by her place twice a day to see if her piece of crap car has broken down again or to catch a glimpse of her, but no luck.I’m basically a stalker now, and I know I should stop, but I can’t.
I was starting to go crazy, but I knew she would be here tonight.I thought that would make things better, but knowing she’s here is worse.Ifeelher, sense her eyes on me, and it has my attention torn between the press box and the puck.
My eyes stray to where she’s sitting with her notebook, chewing the end of her pen like she did during our interview.I catch sight of her every time I circle the rink.
And I hate how much I like it.
The whistle blows, and my eyes snap back to the ice.
Focus on the game!I order myself.
I grit my teeth as the puck drops, and I throw myself into the game, shutting down plays, keeping my body between my net and anyone dumb enough to think they’re getting through me.That’s what I’m good at.Protecting.Blocking.Taking the hits so nobody else has to.
Midway through the second period, I see the check coming a second too late.The boards slam into my back, and pain explodes through my ribs.The crowd roars.
