The heat of her breath, the taste of her lips, the low growl in her voice… It’s all I can think about.
I shake myself out of it and straighten my spine. “I’m good.” I stand up, pulling my hair into a bun—because practice is about to start, and definitely not because I’m now sweating.
Darcy nods, still scanning the arena as my twenty teammates rummage through the stands. She looks back at me, brow quirking in a wordless question.
“They’re on the Hunt Hunt,” I explain, tugging the hair band tighter until I feel a strand of hair snap free from my scalp.
Ouch.
“The what?” Darcy’s brows furrow, the freckle between them vanishing. A soft chuckle slips out as I watch confusion pool in those evergreen eyes.
Yeah, pretending nothing happened? Not possible. All I can think about right now is the idea of making those eyes roll back for me.
“The Hunt Hunt,” I repeat. “Us and the guys hide Lachlan Hunt’s old mouthguard in the stands, and then we take turnsfinding it.” I pause, waiting for the confused wrinkle on her forehead to smooth out.
It doesn’t.
“Wait, you guys are looking for amouthguard?For someone who was drafted to the NHL like… what… seven years ago?”
“Eight.”
Darcy shakes her head, the wrinkle deepening as more rays appear across her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah.”
Her eyes catch mine. I want to tell her how good she looks in that outfit—a blue-striped turtleneck, tapered jeans, and these dark blue gloves that I hate because they’re covering her hands. Darcy’s usually in some form of sweatpants, and don’t get me wrong, she pulls them off well, but it’s also nice to see her a little dressed up. She looks more confident. Glowing, even. But before I get the chance to compliment her, she spins around and starts heading down the stairs.
“Alright, let’s start warm-ups!” she calls. A collective groan ripples through the team.
“Give me three more minutes!” Harlowe begs, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. I laugh, and Darcy just shakes her head.
“Sorry, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Harlowe flashes me an annoyed look, and I just shrug, jogging down the stairs toward the ice.
The entire time we warm up, Darcy is staring. Not at me, though. She’s staring at that clipboard. At her project. I swear, her eyes don’t leave the page once. I don’t even think she blinks. It’s like she’s superhuman.
Which would make sense, because no normal person should look this good under fluorescent stadium lights.
Her long red hair tumbles down her chest, freckled lips moving in a mesmerizing motion as she chews the edge of her pen while she thinks. Her—
Shit.
She’s looking at me.
I’m pretty sure the expected thing to do when you’re caught staring at a pretty girl is to look away. But why the hell would I deprive myself of the little quirk at the corner of her mouth when her eyes catch mine?
She looks back down at her pages, cheeks flushing as she forces her expression to harden.
Yeah, I don’t think she’s going to be able to pretend either.
“Alright team!” Coach claps her hands, the sound bouncing off the chipped plexiglass boards. “Let’s get into some drills!”
The bead of sweat dripping down my face tickles my cheek, my chest heaving hard as I step off the ice. Practice ended nearly an hour ago, but the ice skating team has a competition at Glacier today, so there was a gap between our practice and the guys’.
Kai fist-bumps me as the men’s team funnels in, and I tap my earbuds to bring the loud ringtone in my ears to a halt.
“Hello?” I say through the mic.
