“I told you, you shoulda brought a jacket.”
“I underestimated the iciness of the ice. They aren’t kidding around are they? It’s like a frozen tundra in here.”
“Girlie, your lips are going blue. Go out to the merch stall and buy yourself a sweater.”
Cleo’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut. “Hell no. You want me to wear a sports… thing?”
“I want you to not die of hypothermia before the game even starts.”
Cleo clenched her chattering teeth and gave a sharp shake of her head. “I’m fine.”
“If you say so.” Molly turned her attention back to her notebook, scrawling in shorthand.
Cleo lasted another few minutes before the shuddering cold throughout her body and the goosebumps covering her skin drove her to buy a navy-blue sweater from the merchandise stall outside the entrance to their section. They only had one navy-blue sweater in extra-large, which was fine, until the lady behind the counter held it up. It read: My Heart Belongs to a Snow Pirate and had a puck in the middle of a heartbeat printed on the chest. Cleo groaned, paid for the hoody, and grabbed a coffee before returning to her seat just as the lights were dimming.
“Is it the dull light in here or does it say your heart belongs to a Snow Pirate across your boobs? Did I fall unconscious? How long were you gone for? Which of the hot pigs has your heart? I have questions Cho-Cho.Somany questions.”
Cleo’s cheeks burned. “Shhh… stand up, the anthem’s starting.” Cleo had to admit the set up was impressive. Someone in an oversized pirate costume was working the crowd, and both teams had skated onto the ice and lined up along the painted lines. The fans went wild as the puck hit the ice for the first time.
“If you have questions, ask them, ‘kay? You can’t learn unless you ask, and I can multitask.”
Cleo recognized many of the player’s names on the back of their shirts, Molly’s brother Will wore the number eighty-two on his back and a ‘C’ on his chest. “Does that mean Will is the captain?”
Molly beamed, and nodded, pride radiating from her like a beacon. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Finn and Austin are alternates. That means they serve as captain if Will is on the bench, injured, or in the penalty box. Uh… Finn is number fifteen and Austin is – to absolutely no one’s surprise – sixty-nine.” Molly pointed to the different men on the ice.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You will. It’s the worst kept secret on the team.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “He’s basically a sex god.”
Cleo rolled her eyes but sought out the numbers on the shirts passing by in a blur of clicking sticks and grunting. “It’s so fast!” Her heart was racing.
Molly grinned again. “Told you. They’re badass athletes. Okay, so they’re douche waffles sometimes… Fine, a lot of the time, but they’re talented as fuck.”
She was only half listening to her friend, her attention was glued to the guy skating in their direction wearing a blue helmet. He’d broken away from the rest of the pack and was moving toward the goaltender. He was faster and more elegant on the ice than a man of his size had any business being. The goaltender had skated out from his net. He was squatting – presumably in preparation to meet the fast skater, in a bid to foil his attempt at scoring.
She shuffled to the edge of her seat, leaning forward to get a better view. Would the skater crash into the goaltender? Into the net? He’d stop before he got there… right? Her breath caught as he barreled toward the goalie.
Excitement crackled in the stands as the fans cheered him on. The player skated left and drew back his stick, the goalie flinched right, and without a millisecond of hesitation, the player with the blue helmet smacked the puck into the back of the net. Cleo was on her feet cheering and clapping before her brain caught up. She ignored Molly’s piercing stare, heating up her cheeks, and kept her eyes on the ice and dropped back onto her seat.
The goal scorer skated toward his teammates. They surrounded him and clapped on his back with gloved hands. She could make out his number – thirteen – and when the crowd of players around him dispersed, the name above the number readScott. Lincoln? The towering, broad-shouldered, graceful guy on skates was Lincoln Scott.
Her stomach flipped. She didn’t know anything about anything when it came to hockey, or any other sport for that matter, but scoring a goal was a good thing, she knew that much. She tilted her head and squinted, his grin was infectious, even if his teeth were hidden behind a mouth guard.
He turned toward the bench, scanning the crowd as he passed. When his eyes traveled over her, she held her breath. His face remained impassive, as though he didn’t recognize anyone, but when his brows twitched she shrank into her seat and pulled her arms around her. Could he make out who she was from all the way down on the ice?
Molly cleared her throat. “Huh.”
“Hmm?” Cleo dragged her gaze from the ice and found Molly with yet another stupid grin on her face.
“Nothing but pigs, eh? Looks to me like someone’s got a wicked craving for some pork.”
Chapter 6
Cleo
Despite Lincoln’s exciting goal, the Snow Pirates lost two to one. The disappointment around the rink was palpable, but it didn’t come close to the gloominess curling in her stomach. Mr. Darcy hadn’t replied to any of the three messages she’d sent throughout the day.
Maybe he’s found a girlfriend.
