Monroe takes the puck again, arcing down the ice. Teammates push through the wall of defenders trying to get open. LA’s goalie drops into a butterfly, as Monroe winds up and fires. The puck rockets towards the top right corner, and the goalie catches it.
The whole stadium groans.
Monroe smacks his stick on the ice, skates to the bench, and hops over as number 69, Sinclair, skates out onto the ice, replacing him.
“So, are you having fun?” Mel yells through the noise of the crowd. I nod in reply to try to avoid a full conversation, given how much noise there is. I am going to lose my voice from screaming anyway, and the first period isn't even over yet.
Chapter 5
Kai
LA is bringing the heat tonight. The Guardians must have taken personal offense to breathing the same air as us, because these fuckers are going out of their way to piss me off. One more wrong move and I’m throwing my fucking gloves. Hell, I’m itching for it. A good fight always knocks the static out of my brain.
I squeeze water into my mouth and then jump over the board. As soon as my blades hit the ice, I'm off like a missile. I know I’m about to earn myself a penalty, but honestly? It’s worth it. LA’s too comfortable, and I don’t like anyone getting comfortable unless I’m inside them.
I scan the ice. Moretti has the puck and is weaving through defense like he was born to make grown ass men cry. The crowd is roaring around me, the ground rumbles under me, and my blood feels fucking electric.
“AY! I'm open!” I bark at Luca.
This man is our honorary brother and permanent third wheel. Mikey and I are a package deal, but Luca comes with us, too. We have been playing hockey together since we were six and have made sure to be on every team together growing up. We share a brain cell when we’re on the ice, there is no doubt about it. We told each other we would be in the NHL together, and here we are.
Luca taps the puck toward me, but dumb nuts, Harrison- number 5 for the Gladiators and one of their best defensemen- gets it from me.
Motherfucker.
Now, my blood is racing, and I am pushing my legs as fast as they will go to get the puck back. I’m seconds away from getting it when Protve- The six-foot-seven Russian giant– slams me into the boards so hard the plexiglass screams in protest. This man is a fucking tank. I feel my ribs strain against the glass.
I grit my teeth and turn, ready to elbow this fucking tank of a man right in the mouth. Then something catches my eye.
A flash of movement, then I see a set of warm honey-brown eyes.
I blink again, and there she still is, sitting in the front row. Curls down her back. Wearing a Vortex hoodie two sizes too big, with the sleeves covering her hands. She has black jeans hugging her thighs, and her mouth is slightly open in shock.
HOLY. FUCK.
She’s fucking beautiful.
Not cute or hot or even sexy.
She is fucking beautiful.
She is the kind of girl you dream about, but never expect to see outside of your delusions. And here she is looking at me like she felt the hit I just took.
She genuinely looks worried… for me… The guy who literally fights people for a living.
Then something brutal and primal twists low in my stomach, and one word flashes in my head.
MINE.
The word hits me so fast, I almost miss it. I shake my head. What the fuck, Monroe? Get your head in the damn game.
I wink at her, because why not, and push off the board. I force myself back into the play before I skate over to her again like a fucking lunatic.
But shit… I already feel like one. I can't get her out of my head. Even while chasing the puck back into neutral ice. I’m still thinking about her. Those big golden eyes, the slight pink in her cheeks. Her lips wrapped around the end of her beer bottle… And oh, how those lips would look wrapped around my cock.
Fuck.
Focus.
