“If we’re lucky, we’ll find the club they’re heading to later, and maybe you’ll get to?—”
I cut Sienna off with a scream as the two players collide with the boards right in front of us.
“Oh my god,” I cry as Donnelly throws his first punch, sending the other guy’s helmet crashing to the ice.
His opponent immediately fires back, ensuring Donnelly loses his own helmet, giving me my first proper look at his face.
I want to say that I’m disappointed, but that would be a lie.
I stare at the two of them, unable to tear my eyes away as they battle it out.
My heart is racing at a mile a minute as fans around me scream bloody murder, riling the players up even more, I’m sure.
Eventually, their teammates intervene and pull them apart. But as two Vipers pull Donnelly back, he looks up. Blood trickles down his jaw, and his eye is already swelling, but that doesn’t stop him from locking his dark gaze right on me.
2
EVERETT
Iblink, trying to keep the sweat from my eyes as I stare at the woman behind the plexiglass.
Fuck. She’s hot.
Everyone around her is cheering and shouting abuse at our opponents. But she’s frozen in place, staring right at me.
I let my gaze drop from her wide, terrified eyes, and my smirk grows.
She’s wearing my fucking jersey.
It’s not an uncommon sight. There are thousands of people—women—in this arena right now wearing the exact same top.
But they aren’t the one who’s stolen my attention.
I make my way back up to her face as my teammates continue to pull me back from the asshole who can’t stop running his mouth, and when our eyes meet again, she looks down.
I can’t quite see from here, but I like to think that her cheeks are glowing.
I don’t have a clue who this woman is, but she’s just shot up to the top of my list of who I want to spend the night celebrating with.
With pain searing through my jaw, I’m lead to the penalty box to serve my time.
Tonight’s victory is a weird one for me.
But being here, being home and close to my sister and my best friend. Fuck. It feels so good. Even if I don’t deserve it.
The puck drops, but we lose the drawer, and the opposition sets its sights on Handsy.
My teeth grind and my fists clench, unable to do anything, as Monroe prepares to reclaim the puck.
Neither him nor his defensive partner plays like I do, and it makes it hard to predict what they’re going to do.
I throw my entire weight into my play; whereas Monroe relies on his speed. He’s not wrong playing that way—it’s just…different. He’s good, though. Really fucking good.
And just to prove me right, he manages to whip around behind their left winger and steal the puck right from his stick. Monroe takes off before passing to Reeves, who then fails to shoot it past the goalie.
I feel the groan of almost the entire arena as Reeves skates toward the bench.
I glance at the clock, watching my time stuck in here coming to an end.
