Chyort. Those eyes. Blue, almost silver. A man could make mistakes looking too long at eyes like that.
Her gaze held mine for a beat before transferring to my neighbor. She winked at him, offered a wide grin, and then shrugged as if to say, “I can’t help being so good.”
So, she and Isner were more than friends. Good to know. I wasn’t here to mess around with girls, not even ones with pretty silver eyes and a wicked slapshot.
I turned to my teammate. “You are drafted? To LA.”
“That’s the plan. Heard Miami snapped you up. Here comes the sun, right?”
I shrugged. “We will play sometimes, but the Finals will be our ultimate battleground.”
He drew back to give me a hard look. “Damn, Nazarov, sounds like you’re expecting a lifelong rivalry here.”
“LA is not so good. Perhaps we will see you in the Finals, oh, once every seven years. Better for you to trade somewhere good when you can. Seattle or Minneapolis.”
That made him laugh. The girls were finally leaving the ice and Isner’s attentions were diverted by his girl. She mouthed something to him, and he called back, “In your dreams, Lo.”
I could not help myself. “What did she say?”
“Just telling me she warmed up the ice for me, but I’ll probably still fuck it up.”
I chanced another look, though it made no sense to be chasing after someone else’s girl. Her eyes met mine. I supposed it was possible she was looking past me, but I did not think so.
I stared back while my pulse thundered. My excitement to be starting with a new team, no doubt.
She averted her gaze, almost defiantly. This was fine. I did not have time for girls, especially ones with fast skates and silver eyes.
Chapter Eight
Lauren
* * *
Thump. Th-thunk.
“Oh yeah, baby! Right there!”
Cranky as all get out, I turned over and crushed my pillow to my head, anything to block out the sound of someone having a much better time than me. It didn’t make sense that any sound should be coming from the other side of my bedroom wall. My roommate Macca was supposed to be out of town this weekend, so that room should have been as quiet as a church.
Instead, it was as noisy as a whorehouse while someone worshipped at the altar of a sex god.
Definitely not Macca. The guy made a great French toast, left the toilet seat down seventy-five percent of the time, and was very dedicated to his girlfriend, but I would never have figured him for a deity in the sheets. Thankfully, he spent most of his time at Jeanie’s place, so I had no clue what he sounded like when a woman told him, “You are such a big boy!”
Thump. Th-thunk. Thump. Moan.
Jesus Crosby Christ, what the hell?
I considered texting Jason, who was on the other side of the apartment. This seemed like a problem that should be dealt with man to man, and I was almost one hundred percent positive that this was one of his teammates, but Isner was known to snore through anything. God forbid his beauty sleep be disturbed. This dirty job needed to be handled by a woman.
Sixty seconds later, I stood outside Macca’s bedroom door with my hand raised and my ear cocked. Silence. Had she finished or had he fizzled?
“Oh, soooo good! Oh yeah. Like that. Exactly like that!”
So he had stamina and patience to beat the band. I was almost … envious.
But I was mostly tired. I needed to hit the practice rink by six a.m. and that was less than three hours away.
I knocked on the door. The moans ceased. Whispering ensued. Maybe this would be enough …
