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I shake my head. He’s ridiculous. “You’ll have to bring up that dilemma in your next philosophy class.”
“Don’t tempt me. I would.”
Once I’ve zippered and buttoned my jeans, I turn towards him. He takes a big step forward, eating up the space between us, and slides his forefinger through one of my belt loops and gently tugs me closer.
“Hey, Lockley.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my stomach flipping at the soft way he’s looking at me. Something about this moment is more intimate than when his face was just between my legs.
“I had a great time today. And not just this,” he slices his eyes to the spot on the countertop he had me seated on. “All of it.”
Warmth bubbles in my chest. “Me, too,” I nod. “All of it.”
35
TUCK
She’s wearing my jersey.
When I skate onto the ice for our home game against Cornell and see Olivia in the crowd with my number on her chest, everything else tumbles out of my head.
For a minute, I forget the entire strategy for this game that Coach just drilled into our heads. I forget who our opponent is. Shit, if you asked me what position I play right at this moment, I might just blurt out goalie.
All I can think about is the fact that my girl is wearing my jersey. My number on her chest. My fucking name on her back.
Pride and masculine satisfaction roar through me, my chest humming with something I’ve never felt before. An intense feeling shoots through me, making my fingertips tingle as my grip tightens around my stick.
I’m in a fucking daze looking at Olivia in my jersey. It’s not until one of the Cornell players intentionally bumps into me as he skates past me, shooting me a fiery glare for being on their side of the ice, that I snap out of it.
Right before he skates over to face off for the puck drop, I tell Sebastian to pass the puck to me if he wins it. Determination is rattling through me, and with my girl wearing my jersey in the crowd, I feel totally in the zone.
Sebastian wins the puck drop and sends it to me. I pump my legs hard and deke past two Cornell defenders. I’m still a long distance from the goal, but with a clear view of it, I pull the trigger and take a shot.
I lift my stick back and slam it forward, sending the puck careening through the air and right past Cornell’s goalie.
The crowd erupts. A score within the first minute of the game, and a damn spectacular one at that. My teammates crowd around me, patting me on the back and the helmet in celebration, but my eyes only go one place: Olivia.
I wish I could say that I stay just that locked-in for the rest of the game, but it would be a lie. There are a couple times when I’m handling the puck, but I get distracted thinking about Olivia, and I make a sloppy move that lets a Cornell player steal it away.
But there are other times when the knowledge of her watching on and cheering for me sends a shockwave through me that drives me to pull off an incredible move, or power through a body check that should stop me in my tracks.
I sink one more goal before the game ends in a 4-2 victory. The Black Bears are like a steaming locomotive speeding towards the Frozen Four, and these Cornell assholes sure as fuck aren’t going to be the ones to stop us.
We’re going to Loser’s Luck Tavern afterward to celebrate. While I’m getting showered and changed, the sight of Olivia in my jersey is the only thing I’m thinking about.
Fuck, I hope she’s still wearing it when I see her at the bar in a couple minutes.
Or maybe I should hope the opposite. We’re still trying to keep what we’re doing quiet. And if I see her in that jersey up close, I really, really don’t know if I’m going to be able to control myself.
My answer to that question comes about twenty minutes later when the guys and I step through the door of Loser’s. My eyes scan the bar, and then I spot her with Summer, at one of our usual tables towards the back.
She’s angled away from me, and the first thing I notice is my name on her back.
My pulse stutters. Sparks are crackling all over my body, heat igniting in my bloodstream.
Carter’s in the middle of saying something to me, but I don’t hear him. My peripheral vision goes fuzzy as I focus in on the name McCoy printed across Olivia’s back, her light chestnut hair swept forward over her shoulder so there’s not even a strand obstructing it.
Without even thinking, I’m striding forward, pushing through the crowded bar and headed straight towards Olivia, my gaze burning on her.
