Our teammates let out a harmonized, “Ooh.”
“Bottle service next time we go out,” I counter, knowing it could run into the thousands. He’s good for it though.
“Deal,” Smiley says. “Hope you miss.”
I position myself at center ice and line up the shot.
Everyone is watching now, and I think some are placing their own side bets. This is the shit I live for.
“Should I close my eyes?” I ask, doing it to be an asshole.
I blindly whack the puck, then open my eyes in time to watch it sail through the air in a perfect arc before it buries itself in the top corner of the net.
“Fucking unreal,” Wyatt breathes out.
Smiley groans.
“Stop betting me,” I warn while gliding over to pat him on the shoulder. “You know I’m ordering the expensive shit.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Bring it in.” Coach Hart blows the whistle, and we head toward him.
He’s standing with his arms crossed, wearing his trademark scowl under his bushy gray mustache. He’s a hard-ass with a temper, but he’s fair. This man is the reason our team went from mediocre to dominant.
“Good work,” Coach says, which is his version of a standing ovation. “Power play was great. Keep that energy alive for our next game. I need everyone dialed in. If you can keep doing that, we’re going to the playoffs. Focus. Get your minds right.”
I nod along with the rest of the team while my mind wanders to tonight. Maybe I’ll hit up that new bar in Tribeca, or maybe I’ll go home and rot in my penthouse alone.
That thought lasts about three seconds.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath when I see Kendall Hart, Coach’s only daughter, enter like she owns the place.
My jaw locks before I can stop it, and my entire mood changes. Her brown eyes sweep the rink, land on me for two seconds, then move on like I’m not worth the effort.
I fucking hate her, and it has nothing to do with my brother.
On New Year’s Eve, she was at the same party as me, hanging on the arm of my biggest rival, Damien Blackwell. That image burned itself into my brain, and I wish she’d disappear again. It’s what that despicable woman is good at. I loved it when she was in Europe with an ocean between us because it meant running into her would be impossible. The things she’s done are unforgivable.
Today, she’s wearing dark jeans and a cream sweater, thin enough to show the black bra underneath. Her brown hair is clipped back, revealing the curve of her neck.
She walks in, knowing that she could date any man in this room. Feeling my body respond to her in any way makes me want to put my fist through the boards.
“Shit,” Smiley says.
Most of my teammates know how much I hate Kendall Hart. It’s not a secret.
When I first saw her walk into this facility seven years ago, there was a spark between us. I did nothing about it because she was Coach’s daughter, and I was too much of a coward to risk my career with the Angels. When my identical twin brother, Jameson, saw her, he didn’t hesitate, but he also played on another team. I never admitted how I felt. For a year, I watched my brother date the woman I wanted and kept my big fucking mouth shut. Then he proposed to her.
Even after things between them ended, I said and did nothing. Now it feels like it’s too late.
Kendall sits beside her father and crosses one leg over the other, while I stand here with anger rising in my chest. I hate that she still does this to me, that I lose control when she’s in the same room.
In the middle of Coach’s speech, I drop my stick, and it clatters against the ice.
Wyatt bends down and picks it up. “You okay?”
His voice cuts through the fog as he elbows me.
