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I winked at her and blew a kiss, snorting with how freaking red she got.
She was a-dor-able.
Her roommate started bouncing around like a pinball, spitting questions at her.
"Get your head in the game, Ari!" Coach Kim’s voice snapped me out of my Blake induced reverie, his tone no-nonsense.
I nodded, trying to focus. The game was about to begin.
As a defenseman—the best in the league, might I add—my role was critical. I always had to be ready to intercept passes, break up plays, and deliver bone-rattling checks when needed. My job was to protect Mr. Prince Charming on the blue line. It was helpful that Walker was a shot-blocking machine. But based on last year’s team…he needed me. Bad.
The puck dropped, and the game exploded into motion. The Boston Reds charged forward, and I readied myself for the onslaught that was about to begin.
“Let’s do this, boys,” I shouted as Tommy skated past.
He winked at me, skating faster, and I decided I liked him. At least for now.
Determined to impress Blake…and everyone else, I intercepted passes with surgical precision, disrupting Boston’s plans at every turn. The crowd roared with each successful play, their energy spiking higher with each passing second.
A few minutes into the game, we found ourselves on a power play. Our first goal came from a blistering slap shot from the right circle, a rocket that left the opposing goalie helpless.
I whooped and tackled Tommy, along with the rest of the team. Getting that first goal of the season was clutch.
Play continued, and a few minutes later, Boston suddenly had a deftly executed breakaway, blowing past Soto as I was checked hard into the glass. Walker made a jaw-dropping save.
“That’s my fucking goalie,” I yelled as he sent the puck across the ice. He smirked at me cockily.
Maybe Walker was a little bit of a badass. I could consider letting him into Lincoln’s and my badass club.
Maybe.
While most of the team was meeting my expectations, Soto was blowing right past even the shit of what I expected from him. He was fucking sucking, a huge liability seemingly more interested in causing bedlam than playing the game. At one point—in a bizarre twist—he smashed me against the boards, a move that had me snarling in both frustration and disbelief.
"Your mama hits harder than that, Soto," I quipped, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
He just smirked at me like the giant douchebag he was, and the game continued on.
During breaks, my gaze wandered over to Blake. She was tracking my every movement, it seemed, blushing prettily every time I skated past.
“Having fun?” I mouthed at one point, smiling as she ducked her head and nodded shyly.
Fuck, she was killing me with her perfection.
As the game reached its climax, we found ourselves in a tight spot. The score was tied, and time was running out. Tommy seized the moment once again. With a burst of speed, he danced around defenders and unleashed a wrist shot that found the top corner of the net.
Tommy pumped a fist in the air as he skated across the ice. I checked the clock. Two more minutes and the win was ours.
Boston wouldn’t go down without a fight, though. With thirty seconds left to go, their coach signaled for their goalie to head to the bench and sent out an extra skater in a last-ditch effort to secure a win.
As a defenseman, I usually focused on protecting our own net rather than scoring, but sometimes, the stars aligned just right.
Case in point.
With twenty seconds left, the puck found its way to me at the blue line. With the net empty, and the arena buzzing with anticipation. I decided to have some fun.
I wound up for a slap shot, and the puck sailed toward the vacant net, hitting the back of it with a resounding thud. The red light illuminated, and the arena erupted into a deafening roar.
The crowd was fucking wild. I did a little shimmy, just for Walker, and then I skated toward the glass in front of Blake’s seat, blowing her a big kiss. I was tackled to the ground before I could see her reaction, the buzzer sounding as the game ended.
