I nod and head back to the concession area, but as I walk, I note the entrance to the players’ area. If my target is a relative of one of the players, there’s a chance he could be hanging around here, isn’t there?
It’s risky, but I can always act like I got lost. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first “fan” to sneak in that way. I head that way,looking back and forth like I’m searching for something, but before I make it to the tunnel, I’m stopped by security.
“Staff only,” he barks.
I hold my hands up. “Sorry.” I’m about to turn away when a familiar voice reaches my ears, though this time it sounds lighter than it did before.
“Shut the fuck up, Hen.”
I look up just in time for him to make eye contact with me. He stops in his tracks, fully decked out in his uniform and skates, his helmet tucked under his arm. His smile falls away as his brows knit together.
“What are you doing here?” he demands as he closes in on me.
Fuck. Why is this aggression from him so fucking hot?
“Uh, just lost.”
His expression doesn’t soften at all. “Lost? Really?”
Another player, this one with lighter hair and pale skin, appears next to the guy I’m talking to, looking just as intimidating.
“What’s up, Bouche?” the other guy asks.
Bouche, I gather, raises an eyebrow in question as he pins me in place with his gaze.
“Look, man, I wasn’t stalking you. I was exploring the arena and ended up down here. Your security guy stopped me so everything is fine.”
He studies me for a second and nods. “Okay then.”
As our eyes meet, I see the reluctant heat brewing in his. I scared him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want me. Taking a wild chance, I step closer, noticing how he stays firmly planted where he’s at. With his skates on, he towers over me, which I gotta admit, is fucking hot.
I lean in close to his ear so his teammate can’t hear me. “If I close my eyes, I remember what your cock feels like in my hand.”
He shoves me away, but not before I hear the slight hitch ofhis breath. I back away, saluting him before finding my way back to the concession stands. I buy two beers and then head to my seat. When I settle next to Specter, he nods in the direction of the target’s seats. Still empty.
“Fuck,” I mumble before sipping my beer. “He better show.”
The announcer starts talking and I sit back, waiting to find out the full name of the mysterious man I definitely want more of.
“Paxon ‘The Bouche’ Bouchaaaaaard,” the announcer yells to the sound of deafening applause.
He skates out, all elegant but forceful, and my cock plumps slightly. Paxon Bouchard. Nice fucking name. Wonder if he can speak French.
I swipe my phone open and search his name on the internet, finding numerous articles about him. He’s thirty-six and has been in the major leagues since he was in his early twenties. He’s a popular player but known for being mouthy and quick to throw a punch. This is the second team he’s been with and there’s speculation that he’s going to retire after this season.
“Retire,” I scoff.
“What?” Specter asks.
“This says he’s gonna retire, but he’s only thirty-six.”
“Who?”
“Bouchard.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, man.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain my sudden interest in the hockey defenseman, but I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone. Even though I know I can trust Specter with my life, a promise is a promise.
