Page 106 of Scarred

Ten minutes later, we are laced up and hitting the ice. He changed into a tee and sweats and even managed to find me an extra pair. They are big on me, but the drawstring works to keep them up. It’s much better than trying to skate in my jean skirt.

It takes me a minute to get my bearings since it’s been so long, but I finally find my ice legs.

“Just like riding a bike,” I smile, skating around him.

“I’m impressed,” he grins as I come to a stop in front of him. “But can you hit a puck?” He drops the black disc on the ice and hands me one of the hockey sticks he’s holding. “Let’s see what you got, little moon.”

His green eyes are lit with a challenge as he skates backwards until he reaches the net.

His large frame dominates the space, and you can tell he was made to stand in front of it.

This is his world, and he’s letting me in.

“What do I get if I get past you?” I ask, raising the stakes and making it more interesting.

“You won’t,” he laughs easily.

“Hmmm.” I bite my lip in concentration and weigh my odds. There’s no way in hell I’m getting past him. The only way I have a chance is to use what God gave me and distract him. “If I get past you, I get your next afternoon and evening off. I want a date…a real one, and I get to choose.”

His eyes spark with interest as his lip tugs at the corner. “Deal. And if I win?”

“You won’t,” I grin, throwing his confidence right back at him.

He chuckles softly and crouches down, holding his stick in his hands. “You get three shots.”

“No mask or gear?” I ask.

“Unless you have a wicked slap shot I don’t know about, I think I’ll be good,” he smirks.

“Suit yourself,” I shrug, removing his hoodie and tossing it aside. The cool air of the ice immediately hardens my nipples, making them impossible not to see through my thin, white crop top. The deep V pushes up my breasts, showing the barest hint of lace.

Taking the twistie from my wrist, I secure my hair into a high messy bun to get it out of the way, but also to show off the mark he left on my neck, which he obviously loves since he’s constantly looking at it.

His gaze darkens as he grips the stick harder and glances at my breasts on full display for him before dipping down to the sweats hanging low on my hips.

“I see playing fair isn’t in your vocabulary,” he says quietly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say innocently, as he grunts in disapproval.

Moving the puck back and forth, I try to get a feel for it.

“I want an empty net practice shot first.”

“As you wish,” he replies, skating to the side of the net.

Lining it up, I take a swing, and it slides nicely into the net.

Grinning, I look over at him. “I did it.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “You’ve got a good swing.” He takes the puck out with the tip of his stick and slides it over to me. “Try again. This time, put more weight behind it.

I do what he says and smack it in harder this time.

“Nice,” he grins. “Where did you learn to swing like that?”

“I used to golf with my dad all the time,” I smile. “I guess my good swing carries onto the ice.”

“You continue to surprise me, little moon,” he murmurs, getting in front of the net. “Okay, hot stuff, let me have it.”