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But she doesn’t move. Grinning, she says, “Maybe I should know your name before I kick your ass. I heard it was Jamie, but I don’t think you’re a Jamie.”
“You think right, sweetheart, it’s Jayden Sinclair.”
Still smiling, her eyes cut to me as she says, “I’m not your sweetheart.”
“My apologies. Te
ll me your name so that when I’m scoring multiple times, I can yell it out each time.”
Her throat flushes with color as her mouth lifts up at the side. “It’s Baylor Moore,” she says, backing up a bit, still moving the puck with ease in and out of her legs. “And you won’t be scoring today, buddy.”
Scoffing, I look up from the puck but still keep it in my peripheral gaze since I don’t trust her at all. “Hmm, that’s up for debate. But good luck to you, Baylor.”
With a heated gaze, she says, “Oh, there isn’t a debate. You will not score, and I don’t need luck, Sinclair. But you, you might need it.”
“I, again, think that’s up for debate.”
She shrugs. “Fine, then I hope you’re ready to beg for mercy, because I’m about to murder you.”
I want to laugh. I want to wrap my arms around her and kiss the shit out of her. But first, I have to beat her. I’ve never met someone who wanted to challenge me like this, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on to the point of pain. Not that I would ever let her know that. No, she is my competitor at this moment.
Holding her gaze, I say, “Bring it.”
Stopping the puck, her eyes bore into mine as she moves the puck between us, lining it up like a face-off before sending me a grin. She is going for the tough-guy act, but I see the heat and determination in her eyes. She wants me, but she wants to beat me more. I don’t know which one is hotter. Swallowing hard, I suck in a deep breath, pushing my desire back into its cage and unlocking the fury that I’m about to unleash on her.
She may be a girl, but she’s going the fuck down.
This guy has no clue who he is messing with.
Smiling to throw him off, I deke left, but to my surprise he is on to me and follows. So I grin harder, falling back a bit to put some space between us. He’s making it hard to concentrate, and I don’t like that. I don’t want him to have an advantage on me, but for the first time, I feel like I have an actual competitor on my hands. Usually guys are cocky and think they can beat me, but they can’t. This guy, though… He has the advantage to beat me with those naughty green eyes, and for some reason, that makes me hot as hell. And I think he knows that. I like a man who can play some good hockey, but most of all, I like when they don’t care that I’m a girl. Usually I get babied until they figure I can hold my own. Then they are just plain mean, taking shots and being dicks, but this guy, no, he wants to beat me fair and square.
But he won’t.
I go left again, and when he follows like I wanted him to, I throw the puck to the right, going around him fast. But he’s on me, following, and he poke checks the puck from me. But it doesn’t get far out of my reach, so I take it and spin around once more to go to his right, but when I do, I come down on my knee. I hear the little audience gasp, but I don’t even feel the pain. Jayden doesn’t seem to care one bit because he steals the puck, rushing it back to the goal, looking at me with determination but maybe a bit of concern too.
Laughing, I skate toward him. If he were smart, he would have rushed the goal and tried to score while I was down, but I respect that he wanted to wait for me to be on my feet.
“Oh, so a fair player, eh?”
He laughs, his eyes trained on mine but at the same time on the puck. I can see that he is calculating his next move, and I have no clue why I am turned on by that, but I am. “Canadian, are you? Is that why you think you’re good?”
Shaking my head, I square up in front of him. “Nope, my dad is. Kind of a habit to say ‘eh,’ and I’m good because I was born to do this.”
He nods. “So you’re finally dropping the ‘play a bit’ act?”
I shrug. “I think you knew from the beginning that it was an act.”
He gives me a knowing grin, one that has my belly fluttering. What a stupid feeling, but it’s happening to me at that second and I refuse to allow it to get me off my game.
“The socks gave you away. No girl takes stinky socks.”
I actually giggle, which is pathetic, but I can’t help it. I like this asshole.
“I’m not like other girls,” I say, and he looks up at me, giving me his full attention.
“I can tell, but I hope you don’t cry when I beat you. I don’t like when girls cry.”
“You’re in luck ’cause I don’t cry,” I say, and I take the opening, poking the puck out between his legs, and rushing around him for the puck. Once I have it under my control, I haul ass toward the goal, but like I knew he would be, he’s on me, trying to push it away. But I’m quicker, pressing my hip into his stomach as I inch my way to the goal. Somehow, he’s behind me, almost holding my stick as he tries to push the puck away. My ass is in his groin and I swear he is hard, but I have to ignore that! I have to score.
