Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
A Phoenix D-man swoops in out of nowhere, trying to cut Riggs off.
Riggs slips the puck to me.
I snag it and cruise behind the net, Ivan flanking me, looming like the beast he is.
Corbin’s calling that he’s open, so I lift the stick, sending it to our center, right as their D-man tries to knock me into the boards.
But I slip away from him, and he barrels toward Ivan, who knocks the guy into the glass. Like he’s saying stay the hell away from my boys.
Which is precisely what he’s doing.
I fucking love our D-men. They save our asses every night. Like right now, as our other D-man protects Corbin, who can’t get a good shot.
I race toward the net, where Corbin flicks me the puck again. I wrestle for it, then try once more to sneak it past the Phoenix goalie.
Nope. There’s a snarl by the net, and I just can’t. Back it goes to Corbin, who slams that bad boy in for a goal.
The lamp lights! The crowd goes wild.
And my heart jackhammers. I’m lit up, adrenaline coursing through my veins, excitement flooding my cells.
This, this feeling, this thrill never gets old. It only gets better, and it has ever since—
But the thought scatters when Ivan thumps me on the back and Corbin knocks fists with me.
Life changes, emotions, and other complicated shit stay behind when I hop over the boards. Glancing up toward the press box, I hunt for a sign of her. Sometimes she’s there with Daniel. It’s far away, but my eyesight’s better than twenty-twenty, and I catch a hint of lush brown hair and a bright smile.
I give her a chin nod, just in case she can see me, then sink onto the bench.
When I grab my water bottle, Ivan’s cracking up. Loud, boisterous, and directed my way.
I look at him as I down some H2O. He doesn’t stop laughing.
“What the fuck?” I ask him.
He waves his stick at the press box. “What’s up with you and the Rem-i-nator?”
I cringe. “Is that what you call her?”
“Yes, because she’s fierce. It’s fitting. Answer the question.”
Good thing I know what to say. “It’s none of—”
“Remy?” Riggs supplies nonchalantly as he taps his stick on the floor. “Oh, the Axman’s been into her for ages.”
Are you kidding me? My teammate is ratting me out to my other teammate.
“That so?” Ivan asks with a smirk.
Best to cut this off at the head. I snap my gaze to Riggs as if he’s lost his mind. “What are you even talking about?”
“Don’t play the innocent. We all know you’ve had it bad for her since well before the fox toss,” Riggs says, turning to Corbin and elbowing him. “Right, Nighty-Night?”
Corbin looks up. “Right, what?”
“Just say right.”
“Nope. Not gonna just say something. What is it?” Corbin leans closer, curious now.
“Is Lake into Remy?” Ivan asks.
I groan. This is like tossing a steak to a pack of lions.
Corbin grins. “Oh, fuck yeah. At the bakery opening, he was like a dog salivating for—”
I smack the back of Corbin’s helmet.
“Watch it, kid,” he says to me.
“You were gonna say bone.”
“And that bothered you because it’s true?” Corbin counters.
Ivan laughs more. “This just gets better and better. I can’t wait to give you hell at the next Lawn Men Club meetup.”
“It’s not a club,” I say, since this is a perennial topic—we get together sometimes for lawn games, and the guys call it a club. I hate clubs so I refuse to use that word.
Riggs claps me on the shoulder pad. “Don’t deflect.”
“How’s Sapphire?” I ask, deflecting the fuck out of this as I ask about his girlfriend, a reality TV star.
Riggs just shakes his head with a wry smile, clearly amused. “And the answer is…Axman’s obsessed.”
“And now you’re giving her rides and what—going out with her?” Ivan pushes, since Ivan hates being left out of the news, and clearly no one is going to let this go.
“Yes,” I say.
Before they can utter another word, I’m saved by hockey since it’s time for a line shift. Saved by hockey is the story of my life. I hope it always will be.
* * *
When the game ends, I’m the first one through the tunnel. On the other side, I spot Remy walking the corridor, heading toward the stairwell, her chestnut hair swishing down her back.
Impulsively, I call out. “Hey, Remy.”
She spins around, and something flickers in those brown eyes. Amusement? Flirtation? I’m really not sure, but I dive in anyway, peeling off my gloves as I go and catching up to her while I’m still in full gear.
“Hey,” I say, ripping off my helmet as I reach her. “Saw you in the press box.”
“And I saw you get an assist.”
But I don’t care about the assist I earned in the game right now. Something else is driving me on. Maybe the realization that our first practice date—if you can call it that—didn’t go quite perfectly. It started a little wobbly, with me being taken aback, and her wondering if I was all in. Pretty sure I got my footing and convinced her, but this time around I want her to feel certain. Hell, she deserves to know I’m not a waffler like her asshole ex.