He was glued to Leif, like Coach Hoyt had directed, keeping the gap between them short and making sure his stick was constantly in the way of Leif’s.
Graham almost wanted to laugh at the frustration on Leif’s face.
The dude was handsome, Graham couldn’t deny that. But damn did he lookpissedevery time Tanner got all up in his business. Not that Graham could exactly blame him.
He’d be pissed if Tanner was thwarting every attempt he had to score and chirping him the entire time.
And Leif didn’t hold back either. He whacked Tanner’s shins and dug the end of his stick into Tanner’s armpits whenever he could.
Leif even somehow got away with a crosscheck to Tanner’s shoulder blades at one point, skating back to the New York bench with a smug little smile on his face.
With six minutes left to go in the third, New York scored and Graham could feel the tension on the Harriers’ bench.
Another minute gone and Boston scored, tying the game with an assist from Anker Henriksen and a goal from Connor.
“Nice one!” Graham shouted at his linemates, gliding into them with a big grin, then hugging them hard.
Now, onto the next goal.
A few minutes later, Graham wound up in a tangle of bodies along the boards, fighting for control of the puck. Tanner was in there too, already antagonizing Leif.
“Hey, you have plans after the game, babe?” Tanner asked breathlessly as they fought over the puck.
“What?” Leif grunted.
“Plans. After the game. Do you have them?”
“I’m having dinner,” he grunted. “With my dad.”
“You wanna know why I asked?” Tanner knocked Leif’s stick away, his tone cheerful.
Sweat dripped into Graham’s eyes as he held off one of New York’s defensemen attempting to get to the puck as well.
Leif grunted. “What? No! Don’t give a shit.”
“Because I was thinking you and me could?—”
“We’re. Not. Doing. Anything,” Leif said, shoving Tanner against the boards and pinning him in place.
“You know you want me, ice princess. I make you melt,” Tanner shot back, then he somehow had the fucking puck and Graham let out a whoop of triumph that mingled with Leif’s bellow of rage.
Leif tore after Tanner and Graham hustled to catch up, but it was too late. Tanner was wheeling around the net and firing the puck to Anker Henriksen.
He tore up the ice with it and snapped it toward New York’s goal.
Graham skated toward the net as Roman Poole, New York’s netminder, swatted the puck out of the air, smothering it before anyone had to chance to snag it on the rebound.
The clock wound down, the play getting evenmoreintense, the action moving up and down the ice with good attempts and even better goaltending.
Graham gritted his teeth and he got control of the puck. He tore up the ice, his muscles burning as he tried to get ahead of a couple of New York defensemen closing in him.
But he was knocked off the puck and by the time he’d caught up, the buzzer sounded.
The game was going to overtime.
Graham let out a tired groan when he gently collided with Connor. “I can’t believe we have to fucking do thisagain,” he groused.
Connor snorted. “I told you I hated New York.”
