“I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date.”
“You don’t have to sleep with him yet. Just a date. And maybe a kiss.”
I shake my head. “You said you still suck at cooking. So why don’t you focus on your resolution and let me focus on mine?”
But as I go jump in the shower, I can’t get her words out of my head.
Ask him. Or jump him. Do something.
Chapter Eight
I love watching Cam play. He’s so smooth on the ice, so fluid. And when he’s playing in a game, like right now, I can watch him to my heart’s content without anyone being the wiser. I can lust and daydream all I want to. Ever since Celie gave me what she’s now renamed my “mandatory” New Year’s resolution, the concept of losing my virginity has become something of an obsessive thought.
I think about it pretty much—oh, all the damn time. And the only man I picture having sex with?
He’s currently skating across the ice. He handles a stick better than any player I’ve ever seen, and the way he shoots? Sexy as anything.
I don’t bother taking a seat in my usual place. Instead, I hang out at the edge of the stands for a while before finally deciding to head into the scorekeeper’s box. I wave to Bruce when he turns around in surprise.
“Haven’t seen you in this box in years,” he says, his full gray beard nearly covering his smile. “What’s the occasion?”
I shrug off the question. “Sometimes it helps to see the players up close. I get a different perspective on how the formations are working.”
He gestures to the free seat next to him. “Sit next to me, darling. It’ll be nice to have some company.”
I pull out the folding chair and join him at the scoring table.
Memories of being in this box when my father was coach race through my mind. I hated the pressure—making sure the clock stopped and started on time, and praying it never malfunctioned. And of course, it did, far too often. And Coach McMann always yelled. I felt like I had a permanently red face from all the shouting. Just thinking about it makes me squirm even now.
But then, Cam skates by, and I forget everything but him.
“Break the ice!” I shout.
With one lightning-quick flip of his wrist, the puck crosses half-ice. The goalkeeper stops it from landing in the net, but a shot on goal is a step in the right direction.
“That’s the first time someone’s gotten the puck past the center line tonight,” I murmur, repeating my frustration from when I first stepped into the arena.
“Tonight’s been tough so far. But I tell you, this new Wild kid makes you feel like you’re never out of it. He got off to a slow start when he joined us, but lately, he’s been scoring like a dog in heat.”
“Nice,” I say sarcastically, and Bruce laughs.
He’s right, though. Cam’s the reason the Cannons have been winning so decisively, and his points totals have been off the charts. He’s insanely talented, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that he could easily be playing in the national league.
I glance across the rink and spot Mr. Wild. I can’t make out who he’s standing with because the massive Cannons’ sign is blocking my view. But Cam’s dad is standing up, fists clenched at his sides, looking every bit as irritated and invested as Cam describes. I know Cam feels pressure to live up to his brother’s success, but in my eyes, he’s perfect as he is.
I return my attention to the game just in time to watch Cam body check an opposing player into the boards right in front of me. Charcoal eyes with a hint of gold meet mine through the glass, right before he effortlessly takes the puck away from the defender.
“Go, Cam!” I stand up so abruptly I knock my chair over. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout as loudly as I can, “Get it!”
He pivots and takes off so fast he’s a blur on the ice. He smoothly shifts the puck back and forth in front of him as he skates past the last defenseman.
With nothing between him and the goal but the goalie, Cam lifts his stick and shoots. Like a bullet, the puck rifles past the goalie’s outstretched hand and into the net.
I jump up and down and scream like we’ve just won the title.
Bruce chuckles. “I love seeing you enjoying yourself in here again.”
Cam turns around and points his stick in my direction. I’m not sure if he’s actually signaling to me or is just gesturing toward the scorer’s box, but I break into a smile and return to my seat as his teammates surround him in celebration.
