Page 48 of Golden Goal

I turn to look directly in front of the Storm’s bench where Holt—because of course he’s the goalie tonight—is doing splits and staring right at us.

But there’s no way, right? He’s probably so focused on his pregame prep he doesn’t even realize who we are. The last time I saw him play, I noticed how he didn’t even blink during his warm-ups.

Why is it so hot watching him stretching on the ice like that?

I shouldn’t stare. I really shouldn’t. But I’m not the only one. And at least I’m not taking videos and pictures the way the woman a few rows in front of us is.

Before I can avert my gaze, Wes and Hunter skate over to him. They exchange words then turn in our direction. Holt stands up, shakes his head, and says something to the guys before skating over to the net.

“Shit,” I mutter as Wes and Hunter raise their sticks and wave at us.

“You’re popular,” Dad says.

I shake my head, leaning around Jill to address him. “It’s just the way they are.”

He studies me for a second. “You sure about that?”

I flap my hand at him. “Yes.”

He lets out a huff of laughter but stays silent.

I turn back around to focus on the guys warming up, trying to ignore what my dad said, but I can’t help but peek over at Holt, once or twice. Okay, a bunch of times.

I’m checking to make sure he’s doing alright. I’m not thinking about how hot it is that he can do splits, and that he’s so flexible. Nope. Not at all. I’m also not wondering what positions he can get into in bed. Why am I thinking about him in bed? He’s off limits.

Finally, warm-ups end, and the guys leave the ice. I fidget in my seat before finally standing.

“Anyone want a drink or anything? I’m going to use the bathroom before the game starts.”

“A beer would be great,” Dad says, pulling out his wallet.

“I got it,” I tell him.

“I’m fine, dear,” Jill says.

I’m walking out of the women’s bathroom a few minutes later when Sutton appears.

“Rebecca,” she says, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “How are you? Where are you sitting?”

“In section 208. I’m here with my dad and stepmom. Figured they’d enjoy watching the game from there.”

“You could have used the box, you know.”

“Thanks, but I thought they’d want to be closer to the ice. Maybe next time.”

“Makes sense.” I turn to walk away. “Wait, while I have you.” I turn back to her. “Remember how you told me at happy hour, which, by the way, we should plan another one, to tell you when I’m going to another speed dating event? There’s one this Friday, the twenty-eighth. Go with me? Please.”

“Sounds fun. Count me in.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think twice, and I internally cringe.

Speed dating, and talking to random strangers, is not my idea of a fun night. But maybe I’ll meet a nice guy. Someone to see casually here and there when our schedules allow it. Someone to take my mind off the Storm’s starting goalie, who I can’t stop thinking about.

“Wonderful. I’ll text you the details. I’ve got to check on a few things. Have a good Christmas.”

“You too.”

She waves before pivoting on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.

I walk over to the concession stand, trying not to think about what I just agreed to.