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For the first time in possibly ever, I forget how to breathe, and hell, I almost forget how to skate. Seeing Avery smiling at me so openly is like a punch to the face.
Maybe there is something that could compare to hockey.
Orsomeone.
Avery Remington, my teammates’ little sister, the one woman who should be off-limits, is a fucking vision wearing my jersey.
There’s a shiver that works its way through my body, and my heart stutters for just a moment. It’s in that moment that I get a glimpse of what I’ve been missing all these years. Someone giving their unwavering support from the sidelines, and I know I’d get that from Avery. I just know, which makes this entire proposition between us dangerous.
I can’t afford any distractions, which is why I initially thought she’d be perfect.
We’d pretend to date while my new agent fixed everything my old agent fucked up, and then when it’s time, we’d go back to being friends.
Easy.
But seeing her there, her sleeves capped with the number forty-four, it doesn’t feel easy.
Before I get lost in my own head, Remington stops beside me, bangs on the glass and gives his wife a toothy grin. I didn’t even think his face moved like that. He nods to Elle and Avery and then gives me a shove back to reality.
“We have a game to warm up for. They’re not paying you the big bucks to make eyes at my sister all night.”
I hate it when he’s right. “Calm your tits, Remington. I’m coming.”
With a quick nod toward the girls, I finish my lap around the net and line up to practice some shots. The first one goes wide on the left and the next one to the right. It’s another one of my rituals. If I’m going to have a sloppy shot, I want it to be on my terms, and preferably before the game starts. I keep firing, one after another making it into the net. Granted it’s a lot easier when the goalie is in front of the bench doing his stretches, but I feel good.
Lucky.
Unstoppable.
The song switched up to Ed Sheeren’sPerfect,and I groan along with half the team. It’s not that we have anything against him personally; it’s just too much lovey dovey bullshit. It’s always connected to the kiss cam they like to do before the game.
Remington, Dallas, and Harris used to hate it too, but now they’re all looking at their respective women—or in Linc’s case, the owner’s box—with bloody sappy looks on their faces.
That will never be me.
That’s why whatever I’m feeling about Avery sitting here in my jersey means nothing. Will mean nothing. We’re friends, and this fake relationship won’t change that.
I take another shot.
And another.
I’m focused on the pucks and the net in front of me, or at least I’m trying, until Rhett comes to an abrupt stop beside me and makes a beeline back for the girls.
He’s not usually one to fuck around on the ice, and when I lift my head and look in the direction he skated, I know what has him worked up.
The kiss cam has landed on Avery and some fucking tosser sitting next to her. Not justsittingnext to her. He’s leaning toward her, and she’s trying her best to look anywhere but at him. His friends are pushing him in Avery’s direction, and he doesn’t look like he’s giving up on getting closer to her anytime soon.
Oh, fuck this.
Abandoning the pucks, I take off, passing Rhett and stopping right in front of the dick. He doesn’t notice me at first, but judging by their rapt expressions, his friends do.
The guy is young, scrawny, and wouldn’t stand a chance against me in a fight.
I pound on the glass with my stick, and I don’t fucking stop until he turns and looks my way. My gaze is narrowed on him, and my heavy breaths are causing my chest to heave with every inhale.
I know I look like a wild man, and I don’t care.
His eyes widen and his jaw slacks. I hope he’s pissing his pants right about now.
