The stadium erupts; the seat under me shakes. Dominic skates out with a fluid, confident stride. His visor hides most of his face except for the cut of his cheekbone. He looks around and acknowledges the arena with a few nods.
My lungs stop functioning for a full second before I remember to breathe.
I haven’t seen him in a week, and these few seconds of watching him skate remind me why I picked him at the club. He looks powerful—not in an arrogant way. His power is quiet; his entire self silently demands attention and respect.
Watching him glide across the ice makes the memory of my lips on his jaw burn hotter in my nerves. My stomach flips.
God. That jaw.
I can still feel his stubble. My lips tingled for hours after that stupid kiss I barely meant to give. Well… I meant it. But I didn’t mean it.
I glance around, paranoid, making sure no one can hear my brain screaming at itself.
I still haven’t gotten an answer. He never responded to my conditions, which, truthfully? If someone demanded to move into my home, I wouldn’t either.
I hated writing that one down. I close my eyes and cringe into myself.
He probably thinks I’m insane. Or worse, a gold digger with no shame and a Pinterest board full ofmansions and supercars. I didn’t write that so I could lounge around in his giant house eating grapes while he trains.
I wrote it because… I have my reasons. Reasons that feel way too humiliating to admit to him.
But what’s more humiliating? Dominic Moreal thinking I’m a gold digger, or admitting that my family has financial problems and the money I’d be saving on rent would go straight to them?
I wrap my arms around myself and stare at him again. Dominic skates to the circle in the middle. His shoulders roll under the thick padding, and the crowd surges louder each time he moves. Chants, whistles, screaming women, barking men, little kids banging the glass with tiny fists.
He doesn’t react to any of it anymore. He’s laser-focused. He looks untouchable and untamed.
My stomach tightens painfully.
“LET’S GO BLAZERS!” the dad beside me shrieks.
I exhale slowly, letting the cold air burn my throat as the announcer yells about starting lineups. The arenagoes dark again for the national anthem. People rise to their feet, hands over hearts, spotlights swirling.
Someone drops into the empty seat beside me with the kind of energy that announces itself before the person does.
A swirl of wild, dark curls and a flash of emerald fabric.
“Jessica! Finally.” The girl flashes a bright, excited smile.
My brain stutters, and I blink sideways.
“Uh…” I glance behind me to make sure she’s talking to me. “Hi?”
She exhales dramatically, waving a hand.
“Getting to you was harder than I thought.” She sticks out her hand, grin widening. “I’m Melody. We met briefly the other day.”
“Jessica.” I take her hand automatically.
“I know,” she laughs. “Tinnie just shoved me down the stairs telling me to sit with you. Something about this being your first game, and how we WAGs have to support each other.”
“I’m sorry, the what?” I’m so lost.
“WAG,” she repeats, like it’s normal. “Wives and girlfriends.”
Oh.
“I know, I know,” Melody waves her hand, rolling her eyes. “When I first heard it I made that exact same face too.”
