“I was just looking up team members to see if there’s any mention of relatives that might help me.”
“Smart.”
And not untrue. I finish reading about Bouchard, learning he’s pretty much a lone wolf. His mother died a few years ago and there’s no mention of other family. No partners. In fact, he’scommonly listed as one of hockey’s hot bachelors. Hmm. He must be closeted. Either that or he’s not the relationship type. What I’m mostly interested in is whether he’s the hooking up again type, because he’s fucking gorgeous. Even when he’s pissed off, he’s something else.
I click through the other players on the team, learning that the man who was with Bouchard tonight is Jimmy Hensen, but he’s called Hen by the fans. He has three sisters and his father is a former college-level hockey coach. It’s probably not him.
I read through the roster, tuning out the sounds of the game around me since I’m not that interested. I glance up a few times, checking the still-empty seats and trying to scan the crowd in case the target switched spots, but I don’t see anyone who matches the photos. At least not close by.
I stop on an article about a player named Fersburg. He comes from a large family and has four brothers and two sisters. He also has a few articles about the black sheep in his family, his uncle, Jan Fersburg, who’s had some rumored interactions with organized crime. Fersburg himself looks like a preppy, clean-cut poster child, but maybe his family members cause a little trouble. Maybe blackmail trouble. I’ll have to see if I can learn more about Fersburg.
I startle as the arena erupts with cheers and loud music blasts over the speakers. My attention shifts back to the rink, where the Magnets players are celebrating something.
“What happened?” I ask Specter.
“A goal.” He claps slowly. “It’s pretty exciting if you pay attention.”
“I’m actually working, dickhead.” I show him my phone screen. “Researching the players.”
“Just saying.”
I put my phone down and try to focus on the players, but my eyes gravitate to Bouchard on the ice. He looks huge with all the padding on, which is a nice contrast from the fancy suit he was wearing when I met him.
Paxon Bouchard. His name plays on repeat in my head. Damn, I must be horny to be thinking about a one-time hookup in a parking lot this much. I need to get back to finding some regular fuck buddies.
A horn blares and then a bunch of guys from both teams skate together. I find Bouchard in the midst of it just as he drops his gloves to the ice and takes a swing at a player on the other team. Then it’s just a swarm of jerseys tussling together, gloves and helmets flying. Even the goalies join in.
Specter chuckles. “This is awesome.”
“I agree.”
By the time the refs break up the fighting, several players have been shoved to the sides. Bouchard has blood on his chin, and from here it looks like he might have a busted lip, but it’s hard to tell. He’s still yelling at the other player while his teammates hold him back and skate him backward to their side.
He has a lot of fire in him, that guy. I’m not used to a man who can give as much as he gets, but I gotta admit my curiosity is piqued. What would it feel like if he took his anger out on me? Fuck, I’d like to find out.
Specter nudges my arm, up-nodding towards the seats. A guy vaguely matching the target’s description stands up and hurries off, but he’s wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, so it’s hard to tell if that’s the guy.
“Should we follow?”
“Let’s go.”
We’re on our feet seconds later, pushing through the excited crowd as the Magnets take the lead with a second goal. I spot the guy in a Magnets hoodie, but he’s way ahead of us. We hurry to catch up, but by the time we get to the end of the walkway, we’ve lost him in the sea of people.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“He knows,” Specter says. “He knows he was being followed. No one walks like that otherwise.”
“How could he know? He’s never seen me, we’ve never interacted. I don’t even know where the fucker lives.”
“Maybe he’s paranoid. Or he knows whoever he’s trying to blackmail isn’t playing.”
“That’s a good point,bror.” I blow out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair before twisting it off my neck. “Might as well finish the game, I guess.”
Specter raises an eyebrow as his lips twitch in a grin. “Starting to like hockey, then?”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning too as we walk back to our seats.
Do I like hockey or am I just hoping for another interaction with a grumpy defenseman? Pretty sure I know the answer to that question.
