I’m not sure Tori realized what she said, but the rest of us are choking on our drinks and snacks as we fall apart into a mess of laughter.
Savannah raises her hand. “Not gonna lie, I like it when Justin gets it in d—”
Eloise claps her hand over Savannah’s still moving mouth. “It’s a family show, and there are kids behind us.” Her face is bright pink. For someone who dates our team’s resident bad boy, she sure is shy and unassuming.
It’s hard to picture that the woman currently embarrassed about dick-talk was the same woman Ares reportedly banged over his goal last week.
Yup. The idea of being fucked on the ice makes my vagina freeze. It’s not even the least bit enticing to me, and I have no idea how Ares didn’t slip, or Eloise didn’t crack her face open on the crossbar. But rumor has it, he nailed her pretty good, and since it resulted in a win for the team...
Goalie code demanded he do it again tonight before the game. It’s why we were here so damned early.
A shiver jolts through me, making me jump. “Still thinking about my brother banging Eloise on the ice?”
Eloise elbows Athena. “Would you keep your voice down, please?” She drops her head, but we can hear her as she grumbles. “We all have to do our part for the team.”
We’ve barely caught our breath when Alabama scores. It’s been brewing for a while, but the Raccoons are pissed. None more so than Ares in goal.
When Alabama scores again less than ninety seconds later. Ares paces his crease like a feral animal before he smashes his stick off his post.
I smother a giggle. I’ve known him since he was a snot-nosed kid. So when he throws a tantrum, all I can see is the gangly little boy wanting to play with his older brothers.
It’s a 3-2 game.
Alabama has the momentum, but there’s no rage like de la Peña rage. If it’s possible, Artemis and Scott pick up the hits on the top line defense. I’ve never been one for fighting, but a clean hockey check does things to my nether regions. If Apollo was on the blue line, I’d have already come in my seat by now.
An across ice pass comes from Apollo to the Raccoon’s captain. Justin tries to get on target, and it’s in. Holy fuck. The whole arena erupts a beat or two later. None of us thought it would go in. Not even Justin.
Alabama meets us goal for goal, and within another few minutes it’s a 4-3 game. Ares rolls his neck and squares his shoulders. That’s his sign for “no fucking more.”
We’re into the last five minutes of play, and we just need to hang on to the one-goal lead. But that doesn’t seem to be enough for Apollo. He comes through the slot, and oh my holy fucking wow, he pokes one home. It’s 5-3.
After his team are done hugging him, he turns directly to me and points. My heart flutters as I point right back at him.
The tension holding my muscles hostage feels like we’re on game seven of the Stanley Cup finals. Athena hasn’t breathed in at least four minutes. Tori is leaning so far forward I fear she’s going to topple out of her seat. Savannah’s puking in the bathroom, and Eloise looks like she could join her at any time.
We definitely need to work on our constitution and tolerance for high stress hockey situations.
With a little over two minutes to go, Artemis gets sent to the box for a questionable holding call. It’s not the most ideal situation. Alabama hasn’t given up. Their heads haven’t dropped, and they’re still fighting for possession at every turn. This could all go terribly wrong.
But it won’t. I shake my head. This is our time.
Cooper Duke joins Scott on the top line while his d-buddy is in time out. Where are they drawing the energy from to finish this game? Our first line has logged more ice time tonight than any game I’ve seen them play. And I think they’ve asked for it. I’m exhausted and all I’m doing is watching.
The team finds enough reserve energy to throw down some hits as they race the clock. Kade checks an Alabama player and takes the pass. A fancy little wrist shot that Athena takes a moment to appreciate.
“Nice.”
I’m not sure she even knows she’s doing it, but her muttered commentary on the game tells me she never took a time out. I imagine she’s spent whatever time she said she’s “hated hockey” secretly following the game like an obsessive fan, just like the rest of us. It’s hard not to when her brothers are so fucking good.
Sixty seconds left in the game.
Lincoln Scott snaps the shot up the ice. It’s knocked out of the air by Apollo, but his stick isn’t too high. I shift to the end of my seat, hands locked on my lap as temptation to press myself against the plexi to get a better view takes over. The puck lands in the back of the net and the crowd goes wild.
Nothing beats a short-handed goal in a championship game.
Nothing, that is, except the delight on my boy’s face when the final buzzer sounds and his team takes the win.
CHAPTER36
