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The players skate out onto the ice, all beginning to circle and shoot pucks into the net. My eyes find my number nineteen instantly. He’s already looking my way.
Cam winks at me as he glides across the ice and blows me a kiss, and I swear, if I wasn’t in an ice box right now, I would actually melt.
17
Cam
She’s wearing my hoodie.
My stomach feels like it’s floating as I grab a biscuit with my stick and throw it into the net. Had I known she was here during the first period in the worst seats in the house, I would have moved her to the ice much sooner.
It took free season passes, signed jerseys, and a meet and greet with me and Kos to get the people in my girl’s and Chloe’s seats to give them up. But it was so worth it. Kos doesn’t know I volunteered him yet, but he’ll get over it. He loves meeting fans of the team.
I wanted Nikki as close as possible. One, so that I can look at her as much as I want. Two, because I know how these games can sometimes get. Alcohol and idiots are always a bad mix, and hockey seems to attract a lot of them. Now, I can make sure no one tries anything stupid.
The whistle blows, and I skate toward the bench. The second line is starting this period. I feel her stare on me before I even look up. With my stomach in my throat, I meet her gaze, and I can’t help the smile from stretching across my lips as I see her sitting there, wearing my hoodie.
I can’t get over it—how perfect she looks, wearing it. I never want it back ever. I want it to be the only thing she wears. That way, everyone will know who she belongs to, who protects her.
She blushes and bites her bottom lip, and the image of her wearing those sexy red PJs with her mouth hanging open and the toy between her legs flashes in my mind.
Fuck.
“Where’s your head at, Costy?” Brett taps his stick to my chest.
Refocusing on the task at hand, I do my best to push Nikki out of my mind. “Sorry, man. I’m here. Let’s go.”
Starting line is readying for the puck drop as I join Kos at his side on the bench. We’ve got less than a minute before our shift.
Substitutions in hockey are quick. We’re maybe on the ice for forty to fifty seconds, tops, at a time. Our energy is used in short bursts to be the most effective as many times as possible during a game.
The puck drops, and we gain possession. Number thirty-three on the Philadelphia Patriots steals it and takes off toward their goal.
After one more attempted shot on our end, our line is hopping over the barrier and taking the ice. Kos scoops the puck up and dribbles it around one of the Patriots’ forwards. The Patriots take it back after Brett’s shot is stopped by the goalie.
After a couple more unsuccessful shots, Kos and I are back on the bench, waiting for our next turn. A Patriots’ player checks one of ours into the boards right in front of Nikki and Chloe. Nikki glares at the Patriots’ player with more anger than I anticipated. I chuckle at her frustration. I’m glad she’s getting into the game.
It was a clean hit, so there’s not much to be upset about. But then he looks at her and winks.
This motherfucker winked at my Little Dove.
She pulls her gaze away, as if it was hurting her to continue to look at him, and her eyes fly to mine, a soft smile forming on her lips.
She holds my gaze for a moment before waving, her smile stretching wider across her cheeks.
I wave back at her gleefully, then force myself to refocus on the game.
The rest of the second period flies by, and when the clock times out, no points mark the board on either side. Not for a lack of trying, mind you. Our defense and offense are so equally matched that we can’t seem to get the edge on each other.
The third period starts with my line on the ice. The energy in the building right now is tangible, and the tension between the Patriots and us is explosive.
The puck drops, Kos scoops it, and we fly into our zone. Kos kicks it to Brett, who dangles it and fakes out one of their defenders. Brett fake shoots the puck. Their goalie falls for the move, and I skate toward the opening. Brett slaps it to me, and in one swift movement, I throw it into the net.
The buzzer sounds, and the boys pile into me with resounding cheers.
We skate off toward the bench for the routine high fives after a goal. I lead the line as we bump the gloves of our teammates on the bench.
Instead of stopping at the end of the bench, I skate past it and stop at the glass in front of Nikki. She lifts her fist to the glass, and my heart bursts. I bump the glass where her fist is. I want this every single game for the rest of my career. I want her in that seat. I want her to be a part of the routine.
