Page 5 of Slapshot Baby

"Prove it," she manages, tilting her head back to meet my gaze with a spark of pure challenge.

My thumb traces the heavy pulse fluttering in her throat. "Your mouth says no, but your heart is about to leap out of your chest. And you haven't taken a single step back since I touched you."

"Maybe I'm just frozen in shock," she whispers, her voice dropping to a breathless thread. "Or maybe I'm giving you enough rope to hang yourself, Captain."

"Keep talking like that and we're not even making it to the car." I lean down, my lips grazing the corner of her mouth—just enough to taste the sweet residue of her drink, not enough to give her what she actually wants. "Tell me again. Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to let you go."

Her breath hitches. Her eyes darken, tracking the movement of my lips before snapping up to mine. She licks her lower lip, a nervous, agonizingly slow gesture that tests every ounce of my self-control.

"If I say it," she breathes, her hand slipping up from my lapel to rest against the warm skin of my neck, "are you actually going to listen?"

"No," I say, shifting my weight to trap her completely against the marble counter, my chest heavy against hers. "Because I know a lose-lose play when I see one. You're coming with me tonight, Ava. The only thing up for debate is whether you're going to keep pretending you don't want to."

A wicked, dangerous little smile finally breaks through her composure, eyes glittering under the ambient lights of the room she built.

"Well," she whispers, her nails digging lightly into the nape of my neck, "I'd hate to ruin your winning streak."

I'm a second away from hauling her out of the room to prove my point when a blur of copper-blond hair crashes straight into us.

A heavy arm throws itself over my shoulders, instantly killing the moment and shattering my hold on Ava. I don’t even need to turn my head to know it’s Larkin.

"Oh, this is happening," Wyatt says, his green eyes sparkling with entirely too much amusement. "I didn’t know you could flirt so well, Captain."

Ava hastily steps back, her fingers slipping from my jacket as she drops her glass onto the marble counter. Dammit. Just when I had her right where I wanted her—softened up, breathless, and on the verge of going home with me.

I frown, not hiding my irritation. "Go away, Wyatt."

The kid ignores me completely, dropping onto the bar stool next to Ava and bouncing his gaze between us like he's watching a playoff match he bet his contract on.

Then he shrugs, his grin taking up his whole face. "Admit it, you’ve got a very interesting face right now. I've seen it only twice. Once when we won the Cup. And the second was when Coach finally retired the orange away jerseys."

I force my expression into a placid, impenetrable mask, shutting down every ounce of heat I was radiating seconds ago. Great. All the work I just did on her, derailed in five seconds by a rookie left wing with zero spatial awareness.

"Ava," I say drily, keeping my voice flat, "meet Wyatt Larkin, my teammate."

Wyatt sticks out a hand instantly. "Hi. I play left wing. Jersey twenty-two. You probably don't watch hockey but—"

"I watch hockey," she cuts in.

Wyatt’s face lights up like he just won the lottery. "No way. What's your take on our power play? Be honest."

Ava shakes her head, taking a half-step back. "I don’t know. I’m not into hockey enough to analyze the game."

"That’s fair. You should…"

"Wyatt, go get a drink," I say, letting my tone drop into the low, non-negotiable register I use on the ice when someone misses a line change.

He gets the message.

“Yeah, yeah. I need to talk to Coach anyway.” He stands, flashing Ava another bright smile. “Catch you later, Ava.”

"Not going to happen," I murmur under my breath.

There's no way in hell I'm letting Larkin anywhere near her tonight.

I watch her eyes widen slightly at my tone, her brain clearly working overtime to decode it. She's overthinking—wondering if I'm staking a claim or just pissed off that my target got interrupted.

Honestly? It's both. I don't know what it is about this woman—the quiet confidence, the way she looks at me like she sees right through the bullshit—but I haven't wanted anyone this badly in months.