AllFreeNovel
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“Just because I have questions doesn’t mean I’m going to ask them.” Our fingers are still linked. “I am lethally curious, but I’m like that with most things. And I can wait until you want to tell me. Whatever you choose to share is up to you.”
Erik tilts his head and looks at me from the corner of his eye. His hair glints gold in the lights and his cheeks are pink, although it’s not a blush, more like a reflection of his jersey. His mask is gone and in its place is something deep, fathomless. Something that pulls at my heart until I feel the physical tug like the moon with the tide. His eyes drop to my mouth, and he straightens, angling in the seat with ease, turning so his chest faces me. It feels like we’re balanced on two ends of a pole held by a tightrope walker. I suck in a breath and let it sit and burn in my lungs, too worried that I’ll ruin the moment if I gasp for another.
I lift my chin, even though I don’t need to look up to see into his eyes. Seated, we’re just about the same height. I wet my lips and close my eyes. Taking a moment to center myself. It feels like I’m melting from the inside out. Drowning in heat. When I open my eyes, Erik is so close that each breath pumping through his chest almost pushes his nose into mine.
“You okay with this?” He asks and I can taste the sugar-soda on his breath, feel the warm air break over my chin. I can’t find words over the thrum of my pulse and all I can do is nod. Erik’s next breath sounds like he’s run a marathon. Or played a shift on the ice. “You’re okay with me putting my mouth over yours and sucking your taste into my soul? Because I’ve been wanting to. Almost since the moment I saw you.”
“Yes.” The word is out before I realize I’ve spoken. Thank God. That kind of question needs more than a nod. I already know Erik is the kind of guy who won’t assume. I sway toward him. My eyelids feel heavy and my lips are tingling. Then Graham jumps out of his seat. Fists held up in front of him.
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiight,” the little voice yells over the crowd and the moment between Erik and me snaps in two like a bar of chocolate.
Erik blinks, his brows furrowing as he shakes his head. He looks like he’s trying to reorient himself. Shake the cobwebs out of his brain. I do too. Graham is still screaming, throwing mite-sized punches into the air in front of him as two players faceoff in front of the net. I look back at Erik again, but he’s got his arms propped on his thighs as he watches the tension unfolding on the ice. I wonder how high up his prosthetic goes.
“Maybe the refs won’t let them?” I say and smile when Erik snorts out a laugh. The two players circle each other. Up on the Jumbotron, their mouths trade anatomically questionable barbs, and I hope the kid hasn’t mastered the art of lip reading.
“They’re saying bad words,” Graham says, eyes alight with devilish glee. “This is the best thing ever.”
“Your team’s up by two, and this is your favorite part?” I try to gesture towards the angry players, but Erik is still holding my hand and I’m not quite ready to let go, either. “They’ve been circling forever now, I bet the ref will—” but I don’t get to finish that sentence because the Chicago player throws his gloves down on the ice and slams a fist into the jaw of the player in blue.
Everyone is screaming, maybe even louder than after a goal. Fans along the boards are pounding on the plexiglass with the flat of their hands. The Arctic player, Spaeglin, is taking the brunt of the beating, but he isn’t down. His opponent has him by the collar as he hits and hits and hits.
“Why haven’t they broken it up yet?” I whisper to Erik, wincing with each punch. The stripe-shirted refs and linesmen are there too but watching from the edges of the altercation just like the fans in the arena. It’s a train-wreck I can’t look away from. I don’t want to see the Arctic player hurt, but I can’t seem to close my eyes.
“They have to wait until it’s safe for them to go in,” Erik says.
“It’s a bloodbath,” I say. “I don’t think nine has thrown a single punch. He’s just taking them all.” As if he hears me through the crowd, Spaeglin grins and sends a punch hurtling into the jaw of the man holding on to him. And okay, maybe if the refs had tried to slide in there, the Chicago player would have punched them instead. “I hate the fighting,” I admit as the two men crash down to the ice, the Arctic player landing on top of his opponent. “It just seems so unnecessary.”
“It’s strategic.” Erik rubs comforting circles intomyhand this time. “You can’t let the other team walk all over you. If there’s a perceived slight, or a mistake, your enforcers handle it for the good of your whole team. Sometimes a fight can change the momentum of the entire game.”
“What was the ‘perceived slight?’” I ask. “I was…suitably distracted before the gloves came off.” Not that I’d have any idea what happened, even if I’d been watching. A flush reddens the tops of Erik’s ears and damn, that’s adorable. I’m in danger of liking almost everything about this man. It feels like I know him. Feels like we’ve known each other for years, not just an hour. Then again, knowing the man wears a prosthesis doesn’t mean I actually know anything about him. I have to stay honest with myself, but it’s hard to stay grounded when he smiles at me like that.
“I uh—I wasn’t paying attention either,” Erik says, as the refs separate the players and escort them off the ice. “But a scrum in front of the net usually means someone took a run at the goalie.” He pauses and listens as the refs announce the penalties. “Both players are getting a five-minute major for fighting. That’s normal, but the Arctic is going on the power play because Riles is getting an additional two minutes for starting it.”
“Why aren’t they going to the penalty box?” I ask as a different player from Erik’s team skates across the ice and takes a seat in the penalty box.
“Less than five minutes left in the period. They’ll go straight to the locker rooms and one of Riles’ teammates will serve the instigating penalty.”
“You don’t seem all that worried that my team is ahead and now has an extra man on the ice and a better chance at scoring.” I bump my shoulder into his.
“We have a pretty good penalty kill percentage,” Erik says, “but win-or-lose today, I’m still going to be forever grateful that my mom bullied me into coming.”
He means because of me.
It’s there in the way he looks at me. In the words he said about wanting to see where things between us went. Long term, there’s nowhere, but today? Tonight? I’m not the woman who goes out and picks up a partner for a one-night stand. Not because I’m opposed to having a single tryst, but because they seem to take a lot of time. Usually, I spend my free time at home, sleeping or reading, or with my dad.
Could Erik be a psycho killer who wants to skin me and wear my intestines as some sort of hat? It seems unlikely. Possible, but unlikely. So far, he’s been nothing but kind, respectful, sweet. He hadn’t drugged the soda he’d bought me. He’s given me some personal details about himself. Even if he is dangerous, I doubt Vic Varg’s twin brother would troll for victims at his brother’s hockey games. That seems a little too obvious. Does it even matter? He won’t do anything right here, surrounded by people, and he hasn’t asked me for anything beyond the game.
“Are you miserable being here?” I ask, my heart aching as it runs away with all the reasons his mother may have had to guilt him into supporting his twin. Reasons that all center on the metal ankle joint he’d showed me.
Erik hunches his shoulders and he frowns, but he pulls our hands from his thigh into his lap.
“I thought I would be.” He looks at the bench, empty of Arctic players now that the period is over, but where his brother sat mere feet from him. “But I was wrong.”
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I also thought I’d be miserable here. I was wrong, too.”
“I’m too charming for my own good,” Erik says, and he’s right. I couldn’t have a bad time with him if I tried.
“Nah,” I shake my head. “I’m glad I got a seat next to Graham.”
