Page 24 of Pucking Forbidden

She laughs as I peel off and skate away from her.

We split the rink, each of us doing our own thing. I push off first, carving a wide arc along the boards, letting my edges bite into the ice. I run through the basics automatically. Tight turns, quick stops, and accelerating into short bursts down the length of the rink as I push a puck along with my stick.

I’m acutely aware that Hadley is so close by. I dig in harder than necessary, forcing power into each stride. My skates cut deep grooves into the ice as I shift my weight, test my edges, and push into controlled stops that send a spray of ice out in sharp arcs. Easy stuff, but I can feel myself putting in more effort than I need to. There’s a part of me that wants to impress Hadley, which is dumb and childish…and I can’t stop myself from glancing toward her.

She’s moving across her half of the rink, arms extending out gracefully before pulling in. Her body tightens as she spins. It’s fast, but it doesn’t look rushed. Every movement is deliberate, practiced to the point of instinct.

She lands clean and transitions into another turn, her feet working in quick, precise patterns that I can’t even begin to follow.

Fuck…she’s impressive as hell. I knew she could skate, and I figured she had to be pretty good growing up in her family and being around the ice so much, but actually seeing her is kind of stunning.

Her cheeks are flushed, color high from exertion. There’s a slight shine of sweat along her temples. Her lips part as she exhales, steady but deeper than before, and her eyes…

Fuck.

Her deep brown gaze meets mine. The air rushes out of my lungs. I spin away, embarrassed as hell that I got caught staring at her again.

Get your head on straight, you motherfucker!

I force myself into another drill. My edges dig in deep, the sharp scrape echoing louder now as I throw my weight into each movement. I try to focus on anything other than her.

She’s off-limits. Off-limits!

I repeat those words in my head over and over again, but it’s not helping. Even over the music, I can’t help but hear her as she skates. I need something to distract me. Something more than a few drills I could do in my sleep.

The heavy clatter of skates and gruff voice suddenly echoes from the tunnel. I blink, the sharp sting of sweat in my eyes pulling me out of the trance I’d been in just five seconds ago, staring at Hadley from across the red line.

Her shoulders tense, her chocolate brown eyes darting toward the open bench gate. Without a word, she executes a flawless, quiet transition, gliding toward the boards on the far side of the rink. She slips out of the gate near the Zamboni entrance, disappearing behind the high plastic barrier to grab her water bottle and put some distance between us.

The heavy glass door swings open. The core of the Night Hawks’ defensive and offensive line spills onto the ice, fully geared up. Jensen Reece steps out first. One of my closest friends and our captain, Jensen, joined the Night Hawks a year after I did, and he’s been steadying this locker room ever since. He’s already rolling his wide shoulders, swinging his stick in a wide arc to stretch out his back, his close-trimmed beard frosted with his first deep exhale.

Right behind him is Carson Monroe, our goalie, and six feet of solid muscle. I still remember the day Carson joined the team. Jensen introduced us since they had gone to college together. Dark shaggy hair pokes out from his helmet. His piercing blue eyes are bright and alert.

Owen Scott comes next, towering and athletic, dragging a gloved hand through his dirty blonde hair as he squints through the glare of the rafters. Out of everyone on the ice, I’ve known Owen the least amount of time, but after everything we’ve been through on and off the boards, he feels no less like family than the rest of the guys.

Then come my two closest friends on the team. Zander Caldwell and Jayce Vaughn. They joined the right along with me, and in some ways, they are total opposites. Zander is a literal mountain of a man with emerald green eyes and a neatly cropped beard who looks like Thor after the haircut, carrying a quiet, protective weight wherever he goes. Jayce, on the other hand, is our fast, lean left wing, bringing his usual relaxed, poised energy to the ice like nothing in the world can shake him. He also looks like a California surfer and a wealthy billionaire all at once, which he is. They’re cut from completely different cloth, but they are two of the best men I've ever known.

Watching them skate out, a familiar warmth settles deep into my chest. These guys are the closest thing to a real family I’ve ever had, and I’m lucky as hell to call them my friends and my teammates.

“Jesus, Wilder, you trying to live here now or what?” Jensen asks when he spots me.

“What time did you even get here?” Owen asks, squinting at me. “You look like you played a whole game by yourself already.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter, already pushing off again like I wasn’t just standing and staring at Hadley five seconds ago.

The guys start to gather closer, their large, padded frames forming a tight huddle near the center line as the rest of the team filters out of the tunnel.

“Shocking,” Zander deadpans as he skates past, bumping Jensen playfully with his shoulder. “Guy’s got issues.”

Carson snorts. “That’s putting it mildly.”

I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, another voice rings out across the rink.

“Hadley?”

Grace is standing behind the boards, her eyes wide and jaw dropped as she gazes across the ice at the girl. Stacey is right beside her, looking just as shocked.

I glance over before I can stop myself.