Her bold statement has my pulse kicking up and excitement coursing through my veins. Something about her honesty, coupled with the fact that she isn't demanding a date from me - the hotshot hockey player that every other girl is trying to land - is refreshing to say the least.
Maybe refreshing is exactly what I need to get myself out of this funk.
And refreshing is the perfect word to describe Millie St. James.
Chapter Eight
Millie
Ipull my mom’s small SUV into the parking space and put it into park. There aren’t a ton of cars here yet, but I left a little early to make sure I got here on time. After the wholedate, not a datedebacle, we decided I would meet him here at six.
I look over to the dash and note that I have five minutes before we are supposed to meet by the ticket booths at the entrance to the arena to watch a hockey game. I thought we were ice skating but I find I'm not mad at the change of plans.Maybe I'll like hockey.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. This shouldn’t be a big deal, it’s just two friends going to see a hockey game together, but it feels like so much more than that.
This is technically the first time I’ve ever gone out with a guy, and even though this isn’t classified as a date, I still haven’t goneout with just a friend that happens to be a dude. I blow out my breath, trying to settle my nerves, but when it doesn’t work, I go to the one thing that does manage to calm me when I feel unsure.
My finger instantly finds the spot. I can feel the steady rhythm of my pulse beneath my skin.Thump, thump, thump.I let the sensation soothe my frayed nervous system. One second turns into four and then ten, and before long, the anxiety that was starting to claw its way up my throat steadily retreats.
I can do this. He’s just a guy, albeit a really hot one. He’s still just a regular human being, just like the rest of us. He bleeds the same color, breathes the same air.
Don’t be weird about this, Millie. Think about him pooping!
Ha! I giggle to myself at the intrusive thought, but it’s just enough to pull me out of my own head and remind me that he is indeed just a boy—one that probably farts and burps in public and most definitely poops!
The thought is exactly what I needed in order to get out of this car and walk toward the entrance of the big stadium. This isn’t Hart U’s stadium, where I know Rowan plays. It’s another one, where apparently their mascot is an overly dramatized polar bear that’s about as intimidating as a sloth.
The giant polar bear is plastered above the doors that lead into the arena, its claws out in an aggressive manner and its teeth bared for all to see. The thing looks more like a cartoon, which kind of ruins the wholehear me roarimage they were going for.
“You ready for this, Daredevil?” The deep tenor of his voice has an addicting warmth spreading through my core.
I look down from the way-too-animated polar bear to find his bright green eyes watching me. “I’m always ready.”
His smile does something to me. It makes all those funny sensations that seemed to have woken up the moment he spoke come more alive. It feels like he set a live wire off in my body.
Tantalizingis the word I would use to describe Rowan Pierce standing in front of me in worn jeans that hang perfectly on his defined hips. I practically drool as my gaze continues to soak him in. The hockey jersey he has on is most certainly his.
I find I very much like the thought of seeing him in his element. My core clenches at the image that pops into my head of Rowan on the hockey rink—his powerful legs propelling him across the ice at precision speed, his muscles coiled for the fight ahead. I would like to see him in action one day; I bet it’s a freaking sight to behold.
“I have a feeling you’re going to fall in love with hockey,” he says as he motions me forward. We both start walking toward the entrance, and the closer we get, the more I realize he may be right.
Excitement starts to weave its way through my body, and as soon as he opens the door in front of me, I feel it spread through my chest. The smells, the buzz of people, the lights, the food.All of it.So freaking cool.
“Wait until you see the ice.” He grabs my hand and starts pulling me forward. I try to ignore the warmth that explodes in my chest and core the moment his hand touches mine, but it’s nearly impossible.
He wastes no time leading us over to the ice, and as soon as it comes into view, I’m pretty sure a whisperedwowbreaks free.
There is a swarm of skaters on the ice, all of them warming up, I assume. The sounds of their skates slicing through the ice is sort of calming, and every few seconds, you hear the thud of the puck hitting the boundary surrounding the ice.
He laughs, and my head turns toward him. “What are you laughing at?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so excited.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
I tilt my head as I continue to look at him. “What do you mean?”
He smiles at me, then turns to look out at the ice. “I guess I’ve forgotten what it feels like to see this and get excited over it.”
“You aren’t excited when you play?” I ask, completely perplexed. I thought he loved hockey. How can you love something but not be excited about it?
