He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before he releases it and shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s complicated and stupid, but no, not really.” He shakes his head in disbelief before saying, “I haven’t said that out loud to anyone.”
I don’t like the despondent look on his face or the way his shoulders have dropped in what looks like defeat.
I lean into his side, playfully throwing my shoulder into his, but I’m not nearly as tall as him, so I’m basically shoving myself onto his elbow. “Sounds like you need to be reminded of all the reasons you fell in love with it in the first place.”
“Maybe it lost its magic,” he volleys back.
I snicker, “Doubt it. Look at it! How could this not be cool anymore?” I wave my hand out before me, still in awe of it all.
“They haven’t even started playing yet. How do you know you’re going to love it?”
I smile up at him, pure joy radiating from my soul. “I can just feel it.”
He laughs then and once again grabs my hand. Butterflies swarm and my core warms despite the chill in the air. I really,reallylike it when he holds my hand. “Okay, Daredevil, let’s see what kind of fan you’re going to be.”
“There are different kinds?” I ask as he guides me around the arena.
He only lets go when we reach the stairs. He goes down before me, speaking over his shoulder to answer my question. “Most definitely. I think I know, but you may surprise me. It wouldn’tbe the first time.” The wink he gives me has my stomach flipping over in giddy somersaults.
“Which kind do you think I’m going to be?”
His smirk draws me in. “Where’s the fun in telling you?”
“How am I supposed to know if you guessed right? You could change your mind at the last minute!”
“You calling me a cheat, Daredevil?” His smirk only grows, so I know he’s not offended in the least.
“I’ve heard hockey players can play dirty.”
He stops and turns around, the sudden change has me stumbling to a stop. My chest collides with his. My gaze slowly trails up, catching on every hard plane of this man’s chest. When I finally reach his face, that signature smirk turns into something much more dangerous—a real smile.The gesture almost has my panties combusting from the heat radiating from my core.
So very freaking dangerous.
“That’s the best part.”
“You like getting into fights?”
He shrugs and turns around to continue heading down the stairs. “The fights are just a small part of the game. What I love is how strategic the game is. It’s a constant battle of wills. It’s the perfect balance between complete physical exertion and mental agility.”
“Which leaves plenty of room to play dirty.”
“Exactly! A discreet jab here, or a play they won’t see coming, is just part of the game. That’s not exclusive to hockey either. It’s the most addictive thing about the game, though.”
He looks back toward me once more before he takes a seat that’s so close to the glass divider that I could lean forward, and my nose would be touching it. In a gesture that catches me off guard but warms my heart, he reaches over and pushes the folded seat down for me.
“What’s the second most addictive?” I ask, once I’m seated.
His mouth closes as he stares at the ice for what feels like more than a minute but is probably just a few seconds. He seems lost in his own thoughts, maybe memories. I don’t know, but whatever it is has his shoulders tensing. “Probably the guys, the bonds you form with your teammates.”
“Is it hard being the captain?”
He blows out a quick breath. “It didn’t used to be, but it feels more and more stifling now. Sometimes I think about quitting.” He turns toward me, his green eyes—a perfect shade of jade—widen in disbelief. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
“That you want to quit?”
“Yeah.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I reach over and place my hand over his, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. Maybe it’s the fact that he held my hand to guide us to our seats, or the fact that I don’t like the solemn expression on his face. Whatever it is, the contact seems to help soothe whatever turmoil he’s experiencing right now.
