Page 61 of Broken As Puck

I resisted the urge to chuckle. “Don’t worry. I doubt he noticed.”

He nodded, but his expression was dubious. Nico skated over and, to my surprise, kissed Kobe on the cheek. My heart warmed as Kobe smiled at him fondly. Now, that was cute.

It was nice that they were able to be authentically themselves, but it sucked that assholes like Delacrue still looked down on them. If he’d played today, he might have realized that a good hockey player is a good hockey player whether they’re gay or straight or black or white or any color of the rainbow.

“Matthews!” I looked around. Gauthier was leaning on the barrier, chatting with a pair of women on the other side. “Get over here!”

“Duty calls,” I told my companions. “Nice to meet you all.”

I glided over to Gauthier and arched an eyebrow, silently inquiring what was up.

“These two would like autographs on their photo of us and Davenport taken during the game against Seattle.”

I flashed them both a smile. “Awesome. It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m so glad you could come today.”

The taller of the two—a brunette—handed me a photograph and a marker pen. I signed in the top right corner, in a space above the figures on the ice. Gauthier had already signed near the top on the other side. I passed the photograph back and a guy shuffled over with a stick he was eager for us to sign.

I spent the next half hour autographing sticks, pucks, photos, and even a couple of shirts. One slightly drunk, very flirty man tried to get me to sign his pecs. In the end, I signed his shirt over his right pec and told him that would have to do. Thankfully, he seemed pleased enough with that.

Once the fans had all departed and the youth we’d been playing with were in the changing rooms, the rest of us finally headed to the showers. As I entered, I noticed that Drew was already drying himself. He must have snuck out a little earlier, perhaps overwhelmed by the attention. He wasn’t one to enjoy that the way some others did.

“Everything good out there?” he asked, slinging the towel over his shoulder and pulling up his boxers.

I nodded. “Everyone has cleared out.”

He yanked on a pair of jeans, and for a moment, I thought he was done with the conversation, but then he said, “I’m glad it went well.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Me too.”

He turned away, and I sat on the bench and untied my skates. I slid them off, stripped, and wrapped a towel around my waist as I went to the shower. It was a strange feeling, washing off after a game that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t really matter. Like, it did in that the fundraiser was important, but there was no need to stress over the outcome or wonder what I should have done better.

It was a nice break.

I took my time getting dressed again, oddly reluctant to leave. When I finally ventured out of the changing rooms, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, my gaze immediately landed on Chelsey, who was leaning against the side of the rink and looking toward me.

She straightened, and I noticed that she was wearing a Pride tank top rather than one of our jerseys. That was a small mercy, considering she always chose Austin’s, and every time I saw her in it, I wanted to order her to take it off and put on mine instead.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light like a field of rippling wheat on a sunny day, and my breath caught. She sauntered toward me, her hips swinging, and I fought to keep my attention from dipping to her mouthwateringly thick thighs.

I was surprised she was seeking me out, but perhaps there was something to do with the documentary that she needed to discuss.

“Hey, Chelsey.” I stayed where I was, allowing her to move as close as she wanted. My stomach fluttered when she didn’t stop until she was directly in front of me, close enough for me to rest my hands on her hips if I’d dared.

She smiled up at me, her eyes bright, and then, to my absolute astonishment, she kissed me on the cheek. “You did really well today.”

My heart leapt and my fingers twitched. I yearned to grab her and kiss her, but I couldn’t just do that because I felt like it.

Not without permission.

One of my hands cupped the side of her face and I watched it, fascinated. I didn’t recall having made any decision to move it, but it seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Can I have another kiss?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for her response.

She hesitated and it dragged on for several seconds. My heart dropped and I lowered my hand from her cheek, but she grabbed it and pressed it to her warm skin again.

“Yes,” she whispered.

My heart grew wings and soared. My pulse raced as I tipped her chin up and lowered my head.