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Or to end up in his arms.
But now that we're here, I'm not so sure I want us to be found.
Right up until his life depends on it, anyway.
I'll do whatever it takes to save the man I love.
Chapter One
Atlas
"Holy shit." I fumble my stick, staring at the curvy blonde who just stepped into the player box with Jordan Sterling, owner of the Silver Spoon Falls Falcons. She's bundled up as if she's visiting the Arctic Circle, the faux fur from her parka framing her heart-shaped face. Her doe eyes dart everywhere as she takes in the action on the ice, watching with avid interest.
"Holy shit, what?" Noah Diamante cranes his neck, trying to see what I'm staring at.
"Don't look at her," I growl, stepping in front of him to block his view. She's mine. I saw her first.
It's a ridiculous, juvenile thought…and yet it screams loudly anyway.
She's mine. At least, she will be as soon as I can make it happen.
"What the fuck? I was just trying to figure out why you suddenly look all fucking weird," Noah mutters.
"I don't look weird."
Shit. Do I look weird?
I'm dressed in my practice gear...which basically means I look like the Michelin Man. Fuck my life. She looks like a little winter fairy. I look like the damn Michelin Man. Being a goalie is killing my vibe.
Oh, well. At least I'm a goddamn artist in a net.
"You look like you're constipated."
I turn a dirty scowl on Noah. "Why are we even friends?"
"Beats me. But if you want to know who she is, you’d better be nice to me." He smirks, his dark eyes alight with humor.
"You know her?"
"I know her name."
I wait for him to tell me, but when he doesn't cough up the intel, I growl, "What is it?"
"Gabbi Sterling."
My future wife's name is Gabbi Sterling.
"Wait a damn minute." My stomach sinks. "Sterling? As in–"
"Yep. She's Jordan Sterling's little sister." Noah smacks me on the back, laughing as he skates away. "Good luck with that, big guy."
Fucking hell. My future wife is related to the billionaire who owns the Falcons, more or less making him my boss.
I watch her for a long moment, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to convince Jordan to let me run away with his sister. He strikes me as the overprotective type. Actually, scratch that. He doesn't strike me that way. He is that way, point blank, period. I saw him in action when some drunk asshole tried to get handsy with our physical therapist.
Let's just say the guy is no longer a fan of the home team or Jordan Sterling.
Gabbi glances in my direction and our eyes meet. Hers are endless pools of melted chocolate. A lightning bolt hits me right in the chest, sending electric shocks throughout my system. Her eyes widen as if she feels the same intense spark.
