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But I know what I saw in her mahogany eyes. I recognize it. Hunger. Now I just need to figure out a way to—
"Deke, deke," the cry comes from Sawyer as he skates towards me.
A tiny spark of resentment ignites in me, and I blow out a breath to tamp it out. I was going to deke anyway. But now that Sawyer told me to, it will look like I'm blindly following his directions. There's nothing worse than someone telling you to do something you were about to do.
I fake left, then right, reminding myself that I'm supposed to listen to my team captain, even when the most beautiful photographer in the world is watching. Maybe even especially then.
"Don't watch his stick. Watch the puck!" Payton shouts at Erik.
She's streaking across the ice, her features scrunched into a petite replica of Sawyer's Game Face. Payton may work in a corner office and spend her days agonizing over social media metrics, but she's right at home in the rink. She's clearly picked up a few things from her big brother through the years.
The way she and Erik stare daggers at each other makes me think Payton might want more than pointers from the team goalie.
I toss a third feint in, cutting back to the right. I wind up my shot, making sure not to hold it for too long. If I do, I know Emerson will be all over me. He hates the way I telegraph my shots.
He's right, of course. But I can't help it. Some athletes are motivated by money, fame, or beautiful women lining up to crawl into their beds. Not me, though. I'm driven by one thing: the roar of the crowd.
Call it pride, ego, or exhibitionism on ice— it's all the same to me. A stadium full of people is my drug of choice. There is no high quite like the rush I get when thousands of eyes watch me do what I do best.
I pull back, poised to start the perfect shot.
There's a flash from the sidelines. It's not overly bright or noisy, but it catches the corner of my eye anyway. Worse, I know the familiar burst of light was caused by Sofie. A second stretches out into infinity as the image of her forms in my mind. Heart-shaped face, quiet smile, and eyes like strong coffee first thing in the morning.
Erik's eyes are on the puck, and he's not daydreaming about a member of the staff. So I don't see his reaction when my shot misses him and the net. Not just misses, either. It's wide by a few feet.
A smattering of laughter rings out across the ice and trickles into the sidelines as my face flushes.
"Again," Sawyer calls out, cutting through the teasing laughs like a hot knife through ice. "Maybe this time, Parker, keep your eyes on target."
Sawyer is a good captain, in and out of the rink. Between his charity work, spotless reputation, and movie star good looks, he's well-earned the Captain America nickname over the years. Even now, he is genuinely trying to help.
I recover the wayward puck without a word and skate back to my starting position at the red line.
Sawyer doesn't understand. How could he? I haven't even figured it all out yet. But there's one thing I know for sure.
Behind the glass partition of the penalty box, Sofie raises her camera. There's another explosion of flash as she takes a picture of us. I Can feel her eyes on mine through layers of glass and plastic.
My eyes are on the target.
Hours later, I'm still circling the ice, my muscles screaming from exertion.
Sawyer might be a nice guy, but he's relentless. He expects perfection out of his team— and then leads by example. I've been riding the bench for weeks, waiting for a chance to prove myself as part of the team. Now that I'm on the Snowhawks' main roster, those expectations are breathing down my neck like a dare.
I've never backed down from a challenge. And I don't intend to start now.
"Erik, you move like my grandma out there. I can't believe you let a rook like Parker score on you."
Sawyer may be relentless, but Payton is ruthless.
This morning, I would have laughed at the idea that Sawyer is the laid-back sibling. But a few hours on the ice with Payton was more than enough to realize that she's the definition of intense. Or possibly insanity. Sawyer is dedicated, but his little sister is ferocious.
"I swear, Nordstrom," she sighs as we leave the arena. "I'm going to try out for goalie if you don't get your act together."
Payton and Erik are walking side by side, and the energy crackling between them is almost palpable. Even back in her spiked heels, she's easily a foot shorter than the Viking. It doesn't seem to phase Payton as she clips along, keeping pace with his long stride.
We're leaving as a group, though Dakota has already disappeared. No doubt making a beeline to whichever gym or workout center Kai is in.
"Jävlar. You wouldn't last a night in my skates, Payton," Erik fires back.
