Page 69 of Double Puck

The next few days between the pool incident and game night pass in a blur of practice, ice baths, and one team dinner at Breakers where Mack threatened Finn with the baseball bat for attempting to start a conga line during the dinner rush.

I've spent every second of it doing two things: preparing for the biggest game of my career, and thinking about Darcy Madden's hand down my swim trunks.

Christ.

I've jerked off so many times I'm fairly sure my dick is about to fall off.

But weirdly, that's not even the part I keep going back to.

It's Darcy laughing in the pool. Her dark hair soaked, that perfect composure completely shot to hell. The way she was clinging to my shoulders while she splashed me in the face and called me an asshole.

In that tiny moment that I had her all to myself, she wasn't the analyst trying to decide whether I belong on this team. She wasn't even the perfect Darcy Madden with perfect clothes and the perfect fucking posture.

She was just Darce.

And fuck me, I liked her like that. Maybe more than I should.

But now it's Saturday night, and I'm sitting in my stall in the locker room, half-dressed in my gear, raring to go.

The Bear Cave is breathing above us. Twelve thousand people have sold out the arena again. This will be the third sell-out in a row, which means Josie is somewhere upstairs doing a smug little dance that she absolutely deserves.

The bass from the arena speakers thumps through the concrete like a heartbeat, and even down here, the whole building feels alive.

God, I love game nights.

I pull out my phone and open my calendar app, because even though I'm about to kick some ass on the ice, I am nothing if not a romantic who follows through on my promises.

TO: Darcy Madden

EVENT: FIRST PROPER DATE WITH A MAN

Time: Tonight. Immediately post-game. No exceptions.

Location: Classified.

Description: Attendance is mandatory. This event has been color-coded RED, which I'm told means non-negotiable. Dress code: whatever makes you feel like breaking rules. Refreshments provided. RSVP by doing nothing, because you're coming either way, Spreadsheet.

I hit send to Darcy's work email and grin at my phone like an idiot.

Three seconds later, a notification ignites my phone: Darcy Madden has accepted your invitation.

Then a follow-up email vibrates in my hand.

You color-coded a date? I don't think I've ever been more attracted to someone. Good luck tonight. Go win your game.

I'm still grinning when Declan thuds onto the bench beside me, fully suited up and looking like he was born in hockey pads.

The room is already alive around us, navy-and-gold jerseys hanging from the stalls, fresh sticks lined beneath the glowing Bears crest on the wall. There are stacks of white towels disappearing almost as quickly as the equipment staff can replace them, and across the room, Coach is attacking the giant whiteboard with a marker while half-dressed players weave around him, grabbing whatever overpriced sports drink Margot has promised will make us invincible tonight.

Declan digs around in his bag for his phone, then sits up straight beside me as he reads a message.

"Zoey's up in the suite with Morgan," he says, dropping the phone before pulling his laces tight. "Flight back to Chilmore is at seven tomorrow morning, so this will be her last game."

"Then we better make it good." I tug my navy Bears jersey over my shoulder pads, the gold number nineteen settling across my shoulders. "Morgan wants a goal. She texted me a list of demands. A goal, a fight, and for me to point at her when I score."

Declan chuckles. "She sent me the same list."

"I bet she sent it to Mason too," I say.