With her.
Our first real one.
I needed it more than I had ever needed anything before. Like it would make it all real, to take her out in public and spend the evening with her on my arm. And I knew just where I wanted to take her.
Rhea smirked at me from across the ice, dimples deep in her cheeks and eyes burning with challenge and excitement. She wasn’t just fired up; she looked feral. Like winning that first round flipped some switch in her that refused to be ignored.
I should’ve been intimidated by the fire in her eyes.
God knows any sane man would’ve been.
Instead, I was hard.
The puck dropped, and I pushed off, low and fast, but Rhea hit me immediately, shoulder to chest full force, as she didn’t even try to go for the puck.
She didnotneed to hit me that hard.
I stumbled, caught myself, and chased after her as she raced away with the puck, passing it to someone on her team when she heard me closing in. “What the hell was that, Dalton?”
She cut around, facing me head-on against the edge of the ice with eyes full of mischief, “Play harder, Brooks.”
I barked out a laugh in shock, “I am.”
“Then catch me.” She said on her way past me, voice low, almost growling with demand and fuck, my body reacted instantly. I skated after her, muscles burning and heart pounding. She moved fast, chasing the puck, cutting tight corners, but I gained on her and knocked her stick wide when she went for a pass.
She growled in frustration, eyes wild as she glared at me, and I smirked with a shrug, skating away.
She crashed into me next, on purpose again. Her shoulder slammed into my ribs, breath puffing out of me, and for a second, we were tangled. Pads, gear, heat, friction. The contact, rough and aggressive, sent a bolt of desire straight through my gut.
I had never, not once in my life, been turned on by taking a hit.
But tonight? Taking her hits?
Rhea was rewiring my entire damn system.
She jammed her stick around mine, trying to pry the puck loose. I shoved back, rougher than I’d ever dared to be with a woman before, and bit back a growl when she gasped and hit me back harder. The way her body snapped forward and pushed right back into me, Jesus Christ.
I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it.
I wasn’t supposed to get harder every time she slammed into me. Especially not when we were fighting for Goldie in the end.
But damn.
Rhea swept the puck from me and darted down the ice. I chased her hard, adrenaline roaring in my ears. I caught up with her at the boards, pinning her between my body and the plexiglass, just like before. Her breath fogged against it instantly, and mine matched.
“You fighting me,” I muttered against her ear, “or flirting with me?”
“Same thing,” She shot back, shoving her ass against me to get out of the pin.
The way she wriggled her hips just enough made me groan.Loud.
I jerked back before I could do something stupid, like hump her big ass right there on the ice and stole the puck from her. Icould barely think. My legs were working on instinct and muscle memory as my brain was lost somewhere in the throbbing heat between us.
Rhea tackled me from behind.
Literally.
Sprawling us both out on the ice. She laughed, low, wild, breathless, and that sound made everything inside me clench.
