“First goal of the NHL!” Jett shouted over the hollering.
Niko grinned, his green eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t believe I did that!”
They were called back to the ice for the face-off, and Jett glanced at the clock. Two minutes left in a 3-on-4 play, and Calgary wasn’t backing down.
Their team stuck close to Powers as Calgary tried to find an opening, and the puck was passed back and forth rapidly. And they did find one when they took a shot at the net, and Powers blocked and tried to grab it, but it was flipped off the ice—right over his head into the net.
Bracken and Wolf were unleashed two minutes later, but so was Blanchard, and he was on Jett’s tail as soon as he touched the ice. He had to endure two more tackles into the boards, three more fights, and one tripping call before the period ended at the blaring of an obnoxious horn.
The score hadn’t moved from 1-3, but if they didn’t do something to even the points, Calgary would run away with the win. They headed for the gate, dripping with sweat and blood, quiet in their anger as they mentally prepped for next period.
Jett’s skate blades touched the protective carpet, his eyes glued to the floor while walking toward the doors. He was ignoring the jeering from a group of Colts fans overhead when a hand grabbed his arm and forced him to stop.
His teammates moved around him as Jett’s gaze snapped to a man he thought was Arlo—but it couldn’t be Arlo because he had his opening game in like, two hours. But it was the same blue eyes and Killinger good-looks. The only thing that was off was his hair, which wasn’t normally long enough to tie into a messy bun.
“Townsend, what the fuck—”
“Townsend?!” said a loud voice that sounded like Harrison—but it couldn’t be—
Theman in front of him smirked, and it finally clicked. ItwasHarrison, but—
“Where did your beard go?!”
Harrison scoffed. “I shaved it off and it started crawling across the floor, so I rehomed—”
Jett threw his arms around Harrison’s neck and crashed their mouths together. This wasn’t how he imagined their first kiss, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that the cameras were rolling or that fans were screaming. He didn’t care that he was too heavy for Harrison to hold with all his gear on, and he nearly sent them both to the floor.
All that mattered was the way Harrison’s arms tightened around him. The scent of his cologne—warm and familiar—flooded his senses. Their bodies pressed close, solid and real, and something in Jett’s mind finally exhaled:Harrison was here.
Harrison kissed him one more time, then pulled away, keeping his hands on Jett’s hips. “We should get you to the locker room. Your team’s waiting for you.”
Team? What team? Where was he?
Jett blinked, disoriented as the flashing cameras turned the moment into a blur of light and noise. “Right, I’m playing hockey. On the ice.”
Harrison’s expression shifted into a mix of confusion and amusement. Oh fuck, he was handsome. Why was he so hot? He looked ten years younger without the beard. Jett knew he was only 25, but he looked so good—too good.
“Fraser,” said Harrison.
“Oh god.” Jett stepped out of his arms. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. I can’t do this, you’re too attractive and I’m one hundred percent losing my mind right now.”
Harrison closed the space between them again and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Dude, we’re on the kiss cam right now. Get in the locker room before I kick your ass.”
Jett looked up at the screen above center ice, and sure enough, there they were.
Well damn. He was going to have to call his dad after the game.
But Jett wasn’t one to waste opportunities, so he leaned up and kissed Harrison’s cheek, and the crowd exploded with cheers.
Jett hadn’t expectedthatkind of reaction. The explosion of cheers, the camera flashes, and the commentators practically tripping over themselves to narrate what had just happened. But then again, hewasan out player, and he’d just kissed Harrison Killinger—one of the most talked-about names in hockey. Of course the announcers weren’t going to let that slide quietly.
Heart still hammering, Jett reached for Harrison’s hand, and their fingers tangled together. He gave a quick squeeze before pulling him through the door and into the hallway, needing a second to breathe and to escape the noise and chaos behind them. The crowd’s roar still echoed faintly in the distance, but here, in the dim corridor, it was just the two of them again.
“Jett, I can’t come back here,” said Harrison, tugging on Jett’s hand. “I asked your coach for a favour so I could meet you at the gate after first, but I have to get back to my seat.”
“No fucking way,” said Jett. “You’re with me. You’re not leaving.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works—”
