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It’s almost a relief when the whistle is blown and the players file off the ice. The lights are dimmed, and the music is cranked up. A spotlight falls on the ice as the visiting team is announced and then the Western Wildcats. Fans jump to their feet, cheering and clapping as the players from the home team are called. There’s even more whistling and air horns when Colby takes to the ice.
Without a doubt, he’s a fan favorite.
Once the arena is illuminated, the first line takes their positions as the rest of the team heads back to the bench to wait for their shifts. The puck gets dropped and everyone explodes into action. Hayes fights for possession before passing it off to Colby, who races across the ice, blades digging into it. After he crosses the blue line, he flicks the black disc to Ford Hamilton, who drives it toward the net. A defenseman for the other team slams Ford into the boards. The sound of the hit echoes throughout the arena.
Carina winces as Viola chuckles. “Wanna bet that someone’s going to be administering a little TLC tonight?”
“He’s the biggest baby,” Carina says with a laugh. “He’ll milk it for days.”
Ryder McAdams intercepts the play before sending it back to Hayes, who in turn passes it to Colby. He flies by the net and shoots. Air gets trapped in my lungs as the puck slips past the goalie and the long blast of a horn blares throughout the arena.
As Colby circles around the back of the net, his gaze locks on mine, holding it captive as he skates back to his side of the ice. A jolt of electricity sizzles through me until my fingertips and toes buzz with it.
Ava clears her throat. “Oh, girl…you’ve been holding out on me.”
I open my mouth to deny the accusation but can’t seem to push out the words. Instead, I snap it shut and press my lips together.
I am in so much trouble.
Even though the girls talk and gossip throughout the game, my attention stays pinned to Colby. I don’t know much about hockey other than what I’ve picked up over the past few months, but even I realize that he’s talented. As much as it pains me to admit it, I understand what all the fuss is about where he’s concerned. Not only is this guy hot and muscular, but he’s a gifted athlete.
And, from what I’ve been able to surmise—smart and funny.
Not to mention good in bed.
Who wouldn’t want to get their hands on him, even if it’s just for a night or two.
The final buzzer rings and the Wildcats bring home another win. It’s tradition for everyone to head over to Slap Shotz to celebrate.
Although, that’s not in the cards for us tonight. The only reason I showed up to this game was to hash out this farce of a marriage.
Fallyn rises to her feet and the rest of our group follows suit.
“Let’s wait for the guys in the lobby,” she calls over her shoulder, all the while maneuvering through the thick crowd. Everyone agrees as we make our way toward the hallway where the player locker room is located.
“And that would be my cue to take off,” Ava says.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Juliette offers.
Her expression softens at the invitation. “Thanks. I appreciate it, but I’ve never been one to hang around with my father’s players. It’s always been a big no-no in my house.”
“That makes sense,” Viola muses. “I’m sure your dad doesn’t want you getting involved with any of them.
Ava suppresses a smile. “Nope.”
“It was really nice meeting you,” Viola says.
“You too.” Her gaze encompasses the girls. “All of you. This was fun.”
“We’ll have to plan a night out at Blue Vibe to do a little dancing,” Carina suggests.
“Count me in,” Stella says.
Ava throws her arms around me and whispers, “Thanks again for the invite. And you’re right—your friends are great.”
“Told you so.”
“Text me,” she says with a wave before taking off.
“I will.”
And then she’s gone, disappearing through the throng of spectators.
“I like her,” Carina says with a nod, blonde ponytail bobbing with the movement.
“Me, too.” I smile, glad everyone got along. They really are a great bunch of girls. I’d love for Ava to get to know them better.
I glance around, noticing that there’s a ton of people surrounding a handsome, older man. When he turns and smiles at a guy who looks to be similar in age before reaching out and clasping his hand, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about him.
“Who is that?” I ask Viola, gesturing toward the growing group. It’s like he’s a celebrity in his own right.
Maybe both men are.
“Oh, that’s Gray McNichols.”
McNichols?
Before I can connect the dots, she adds, “Colby’s father. He played in the NHL for a while before becoming a sportscaster on ESPN.”
