He’s open and in front of the net, but Axl has no clear path for a pass. I zoom my phone camera back on Axl. It would be nice if he would punch someone right about now. The guy used to be a goldmine for incriminating footage, but something has changed.
Instead of losing his temper, Axl maintains control of his attitude—and the puck—as he skates behind the net. Right as Noah skates in to assist, the defenseman slickly steals the puck and quickly fires a pass up the ice. The opposing center snatches the pass and takes off on a breakaway. He comes in on the goalie, makes a quick move, and fires the puck in the back of the net.
The crowd erupts in cheers.
I can’t digest how fast that went. My stomach twists as my gaze flies to the clock. It shows only one second left. They take one final meaningless faceoff, and the final buzzer blares, signaling the end of the game. Nausea brews, and a deep sadness for the team sets in my heart. With heads hung low, the players skate off the ice.
I also feel defeated and let out a disgruntled sigh. All the shots I got were normal hockey shots, plus all the hot ones of Noah—which aren’t going to help my assignment. I got nothing to prove my case that these guys should be hated. But as I drop my gaze, I start to feel like maybe that’s okay.
They played hard.
It’s not their fault that their boss is Bill Baker. Maybe I don’t have to write a whole hit piece on them. I can write something normal that isn’t that glowing. I stuff my phone in my pocket and head out with urgency, hoping to get on the bus before all theseats are taken. My efforts are rewarded. I’m the first one on the bus, and I plop down in the second row, taking the window seat.
A few minutes later, the team files onto the bus. I avoid eye contact as they seem to claim the same seats as before, and Noah plops down next to me as soon as he sees me. His Granite Ice beanie is pulled low, covering the bottom of his ears, the way he normally wears it. A flat frown of forlornity washes his normally happy expression clear off his face, and his gaze cuts to me as he adds a wireless earbud in each ear. With not so much as one uttered word, he closes his eyes and rests his head back in the seat. I instinctively know not to talk. Sometimes people just want to be quiet, and I’m totally fine not talking.
It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted. A yawn spirals from deep in my gut. I slowly open my mouth to let it out as I wrap my arms across my chest in a self-snuggle position and relax even more in my seat. Tension releases from my body as soon as I lean against the window and close my eyes. With another couple of deep breaths, I nod off into a peaceful slumber.
Until someone taps me on my shoulder. My lashes flutter, alerting me to the tapping, but my mind is so calm it pulls me back to sleep. A wispy stream of air, basked in notes of a cool ocean breeze, wafts under my nose. For the faintest of moments, I think I’m sleeping near the ocean. My body is warm and toasty, as I stay snuggled up.
This is seriously the best nap of my life.
Why would I stop it now?
More shoulder tapping.
That’s so rude.
One eye opens methodically.
My head is resting against the sleeve of a cozy gray sweatshirt. So, not a window I thought I was sleeping on. I yank my other eye open to confirm my face is propped up against somebody—that smells amazing. So much so that I want to bury my nosefurther into this arm, but that would be weird. I do the opposite and raise my gaze up.
Noah is staring down at me, his lips pinched together as if he has a secret. “You finally woke up. A good thing too, because we’re back in Mapleton.”
“Ah.” I slowly sit up straight, looking back at the window. The window is still there, plus what looks like a fresh drool stain I pretend not to see, but it glistens back at me. My cheeks heat as I reach out and give it a nice little pat to make sure.
Yep. Still nice and windowy.
My gaze slides back to Noah. Somehow, in my unconscious state of slumber, I scooted all the way over and snuggled up to him. My face heats steadily into a full broil. “Did I sleep on your arm?”
A chuckle leaks out of his mouth. “Yeah, the driver took a pretty hard right a while back, and you just rolled with it.”
“I’m sorry.” I flatten my hand on his arm like I had offended it. It’s such a nice arm. Firm and steady, the perfect platform for resting against. “I had no idea.” I fluster more, as I can’t seem to stop staring at his perfect arm. “This isn’t something I normally do.” I risk eye contact, and his flirty gleam is strong out of the corner of his eye. “Why didn’t you shove me off or, at the very least, wake me?”
Players start to muster into the center aisle and head off the bus, creating a bustle of noise. Noah speaks over the commotion, “You know how it goes.” He tips his head down, pulling my gaze toward him. “You have to make it up to me.”
"I thought I already owed you from before.” My mind is still fogged by that ocean-breeze scent thing he has going on, and I scramble to find my overstuffed purse and stand, falling into step behind him.
“About that, I have a request for that one.” He gives me a side-eye, but it’s our turn to get off the bus, so he lumbers forwarduntil we make it down the bus steps. Then he turns toward me and for no reason I can explain—except to be unfair—he feels it is necessary to look incredibly hot. Not that it should have even been more possible, but his jaw steels, his attention locking fully on me.
And again with the ocean breeze, dude.
It’s like he has a tropical island floating above his head that sends off ocean-tainted waves right when I think I’m strong enough to resist that smile.
I’m not a groaner.
Except for maybe when I get the stomach flu, but you can’t fault me for that. I fight with every ounce of my soul not to emit the cryptic-death noise that spun in my gut. Nothing good can come from him having any request while looking that fine.
“The team is going to Red Barn Kabobs,” he continues. “Something to do to decompress. You should come.”
