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I walk into the smaller south rink and grin at the dozen pint-sized kids doing drills on the ice. A guy a few years older than me waves and skates over. I’m guessing this is Rick Scholtz, the parent coach I coordinated the visit with. And that would make the peanut decked out in pink and clinging to his pant leg his daughter, Eva.
She’s got about four hundred sparkly hair clips attached to the silky ringlets spilling out of her helmet and a curious look in her soulful brown eyes.
Getting low, I smile and offer my hand. “Hi, sweetheart, I’m Vaughn. Would it be okay if I played some hockey with you guys tonight?”
She inches closer and nods, a tiny smile on her lips.
“You’ll show me what to do?” I ask, and she giggles, burying her pretty little face in her dad’s leg. Pushing to my feet, I shake Rick’s hand.
“Hey, man, thanks for coming tonight.” He’s grinning from ear to ear, looking over his shoulder at the kids who’ve started taking notice of me now that their coach and hero is over here.
I shake my head. “Thanks for having me.” After all the bullshit PR clouding what ought to just be something decent, it feels good to show up knowing this isn’t about anything but the kids. Not having to worry about whether my smile is going to play with the public or keep cool when a photographer interrupts a kid to get a shot.
And maybe I needed a distraction from a certain brunette with dancing blue eyes and the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. Being busy as fuck isn’t doing it, but this—this just might.
I lace up my skates while Rick points out a couple of serious Slayers fans and chats about the slap shot the kid in the corner has. When I pull my jersey on and jump the boards—because you gotta jump the boards—I’m met with a series of awed gasps and a sea of eager faces.
“So, who’s gonna show me the ropes tonight?”
An hour later I’ve given away all the jerseys and hats I brought to the rink, pulled a chain of kids around the ice a handful of times, shot pucks, practiced passing drills, and played Sharks and Minnows until Rick blew his whistle and everyone skated up into a neat line to thank me for playing with them. Each gives me a fist bump or hug and a smile that goes straight to the fucking heart.
After the last little hockey player is headed back to her mom, I turn around and nearly trip over my skates when I seeAllie, sweaty, pink cheeked, and pretty as hell, standing in the rink doorway wearing a white and red Wisconsin jersey.
* * *
Natalie
My ovaries just exploded.
I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes watching Vaughn Vassar—the man voted least friendly player in the league—playing Sharks and Minnows with a rink full of mite-level special-needs kids. Not for the cameras—there weren’t any. And not out of some obligation—the full-on belly laughs and absolutely delighted gleam in his eyes leave no doubt about that.
Vaughnlovesplaying with these kids.
And any chance I had at putting this pesky crush behind me while he’s still in town just wentpoof, taking whatever shot I had of cutting out of the rink before he saw me with it.
Hello, double take and slow, stretching smile. Oh geez, his mouth is something else. Coasting across the ice, he juts his chin at me with a taunt. “You following me, Baxter?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
“Hmm,” he says, stepping off the ice.
I knew lingering was a mistake. Even now, I know I should leave, but instead I just stand there.
Vaughn straddles the bench and, eyes on mine, starts undoing his laces.
“You’re pretty amazing with those kids.” My heart is racing, my belly nervous. My words a little more breathless than I’d like them to be.
He gives his head a slow shake. “Those kids are pretty amazing, period. Fun to play with them today.”
“It looked like it.” I bite my lip, but then give in to the devil on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you shriek like that.”
That smile.If the press got a hold of the smile I’m seeing right now, the city of Chicago and the rest of the world would fall in love with this man. His endorsements would skyrocket and the female population would flock to him in droves.
But today it’s just me and the kids seeing the side of Vaughn he’s so reluctant to share.
“What about you?” he asks. “You play in an adult league?”
Right, because while he looks hotter than sin, I’m sweaty and gross. Not fair.
