Still heartbroken, I came here to get revenge on Rocco, but three seconds into this and I’ve leaped out of heartbreak. I’m ready to tell my mama aboutus.
Book me a chapel and start folding those nappies.
I fan myself, despite the freezing temps. He’s wearing his blue and orange jersey, and I never thought about the color orange before, but I’m pretty sure it’s my new favorite color. Like a delicious persimmon, sun-ripened to perfection, just waiting for something to pluck him—I mean it—off a tree. Drool puddles in the middle of my mouth as I can’t stop thinking about persimmons. Yes, that’s what I tell myself. The drool is because I’m hungry.
I’m perspiring just watching Axl be so effortlessly hot.
He’s a jaguar on skates.
Not to mention those shoulder pads. I fan myself, scanning the arena. No wonder they have the air cranked so much in this place. All the women would be passed out on the floor. All the men look amazing, but Axl’s coordination—and how he naturally maneuvers his stick like it’s an extension of his hand, keeping the puck perfectly in line as he skates around the rink—explodes my mind. If a genie showed up and offered me one wish, I don’t doubt for a second that I’d trade places with that stick.
I don’t understand a single thing about the game other than getting the puck in the net, but by the time the game is over, I’ve entered myI-love-hockeyera. Not only have I entered it, but I’m also ready to buy all the merch along with season tickets.
“We sold every seat in the house tonight for the first time since we started this team,” Bill explains over the crowd cheers. “Tons of your fans showed up to catch a glimpse of you, just like I knew they would.” Bill winks at me, adding, “We’re onto something.”
Tossing a shoulder up in a modest shrug, I avoid any credit. “You seem to have a pretty good team here.”
Bill stands, nudges me with his elbow, and quietly leans over. “Why don’t you follow me to the tunnel, and we’ll snag another photo of the two of you. The fans will go crazy for it.”
He’s really pushing this fake-dating thing.
The thing is, I don’t mind taking photos. It’s part of my job, and I’ve posed with the most random people over the years. Being in front of a camera is easy for me. However, I spent the last two and a half hours drooling over Axl, and I feel like I’m keeping a secret from him now. It’s so much different than when I showed up here the other day. Now there are rumors about us. People are watching, interested in our story, and well, I’m sort of intrigued by Axl—to put it mildly.
Bill leads me to the private elevator, allowing us to skip the mass exodus down the steps and the hordes of people. From the elevator, we take a tunnel and end up next to the locker room. Acouple of the guys are already dressed in street clothes, carrying their body-sized hockey bags toward the exit. There’s a meeting room directly across from the locker room with the light already on, and Bill raises his arm, ushering me to go inside.
I mindlessly enter and my breath hitches in my chest.
Axl’s standing in the corner chugging water out of a glass water bottle. He’s stripped out of his jersey and wearing a team-colors hoodie with the hood up, partially concealing the side of his face. I easily find the drops of sweat that left a trail from his temple across his flawless cheekbone. The way he devours the water while maintaining a perfect pose makes him look like a model for a bottled water company. I will buyallof whatever he is selling.
When he hears the shuffle of us entering the room, he lowers his bottle and turns his gaze on me. For the first time in a long time, I’m nervous about what someone thinks of me. His lips part, but his words are directed at Bill. “Do you mind telling me what you’re up to?”
Bill saunters into the room, pulling the door closed behind us, and he doesn’t stop until he takes a seat at the head of the empty table. While he joins the pads of his fingers with those on his opposite hand into a perfect contemplation position, he speaks as if the room is filled with people. “I asked you to meet me here because it’s working.”
From his spot in the corner, Axl flashes a cryptic expression at me, which I return because I’m as lost as he is, and he blurts out, “Do you mind being a little more specific? Why is she here, sitting in your box, and wearing thatdress?” The word dress comes off as if it’s a timebomb, threatening danger to everyone in the room.
Bill chuckles, a hearty series of sounds.
Feeling defensive, I take a step closer to Axl and spew, “I picked the dress.”
“Why?” Axl narrows his gaze at me. “Don’t you know how to dress for a hockey game? It’s fifty degrees in here.”
“I didn’t.” I shake my head back and forth, anxiety bubbling in my gut. Nobody has ever complained about how I looked before. I’m not a diva or anything, but this was Rocco’s favorite color on me, and I didn’t expect Axl to fawn over me, but I also didn’t think he’d be so vocal about not liking the way I looked. “How was I supposed to know that? This is my first time going to a hockey game, and I picked the dress because I wanted to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” His tone is extra sharp, and he doesn’t soften his stony gaze.
“You.” A lightning bolt slams through my chest, as I hate admitting how catty I’m being about my breakup. His perfect teeth dig into his bottom lip as if he’s lingering on what I said. It’s oddly distracting how his lip flushes light pink, then white, and I do everything I can to steal my gaze away from his lips.
His perfect lips.
“You see.” Bill cuts in, still flexing his fingers together, “we have an opportunity to help each other out. Axl, I know your goals are to make more money and move up to the NHL. That can’t happen if we don’t succeed as a team. We need to sell tickets, and you need eyes on you. The NHL wants players who put on a good show, and they aren’t going to recruit anyone from a dead team. Did you notice the energy tonight? All the seats were filled. It was magical.”
Axl is silent as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Bill goes on. “And Sophie here, she’s in town for the week, healing from her heartbreak. The press was brutal to her about her cheating fiancé—”
“Not my fiancé!” I override him. “He was just a boyfriend, and now he’s an ex.”
Axl’s gaze falls to the ground as a line of contemplation pins between his brows. Silence drags on before he finally lifts his gaze back to me. “I’m sorry you got cheated on. I know how that feels.”
Swallowing back the flashback of Rocco and I promising to love each other forever, my jaw quivers. “It hurts.”
