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“Thank you, Cassidy.”
She smiles wide, and my breath hitches at the sight. “You’re welcome.”
Our gazes lock, and it’s like we’re in some sort of strange bubble. It’s disarming.
It’s not appropriate.
I pull my gaze away, breaking the connection.
I’m vaguely aware of Cassidy placing the milk back into the refrigerator and leaning over the counter, getting a little too close.
“Care to talk about what’s on your mind?”
“No.”
I don’t bother elaborating. I don’t need her to be my shrink. I need her to care for my needs in other ways. The milk was a surprising move, something I didn’t know I needed, but I don’t need any more from her tonight.
Not like this.
Not while thinking about my past. Or her splayed out naked on my bed.
Standing from the chair, I face her. “Thanks for the milk.” And with that, I head back to my room, needing the space.
Needing to think with a clear head.
Lines can’t be blurred, and sometimes Cassidy makes it difficult to remember that.
The crowd roars with excitement and anticipation, their cheers and chants echoing throughout the arena.
It’s halfway through the third period, and despite our efforts, the scoreboard shows a tied score of zero to zero.
If we don’t lock this up, we have to face them again, which is something I don’t want to do.
We need to rally and prove we have what it takes to win this game.
Round two is on the horizon, so close I can practically taste it.
We need a victory today.
Shit.
Knowing what rides on this has my lungs tightening, making it hard to breathe.
Cass.
My gaze seeks her out, and the moment I see her, the pressure subsides.
It shouldn’t help, but it does.
What that means, fuck, I don’t even want to know right now, but as I see her waving and screaming what looks like my name, I can feel my adrenaline start pumping, but this time, it’s filled with fierce determination.
The truth is, we’ve proven in the last three games that we have this in the bag. Now, we just need to bring it home.
Tightening my grip on my stick, I'm ready to face off in our defense zone. I look over to where Mason guards our net and then back to the puck.
With the speed I'm known for, I strike, winning the face-off and sending the puck to my second line defenseman Wolfe, who skates the puck behind our net to set up the play.
He passes it up our blue line, and I receive the puck with a burst of speed.
