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Rhett slides to a stop next to me, and he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to, his stare is enough.
“You lay a finger on her,” I point to Avery, glancing in her direction for a second. She looks just as shocked as this guy.Join the club, darling, join the bloody club.I have no idea what I’m doing, but I know this fucker will not be putting his hands on her, or his lips. Not if I can help it. “And I will come through this glass and destroy you. Is that clear?”
The guy doesn’t speak or move a muscle, he continues to stare at me, and I can feel my blood boiling.
I clench my hand around my stick and pound the glass with my other. “Are we bloody clear?”
He still doesn’t speak, but this time he nods and holds up his hands in surrender. I continue to stare at him, even after he breaks eye contact and sinks down in his seat.
Fucking pussy.
“Remington! Craig! Get your asses back in here.” Coach Weller hollers from the player’s box, the irritation in his tone telling me we’ve been squaring off with this punk for way too long, and it’s time to get back in the locker room before we come back and stomp Boston’s ass into the ice.
I bang on the glass one more time before tossing Avery a cocky smile. Rhett doesn’t look like he’s planning on moving anytime soon, so I give him a push, and head back to the locker room.
Despite this stupid fuck, and this tight feeling in my chest, I have a good feeling about tonight.
Tonight, I’m here to play. I’m here to win.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tonight’s game was intense.
Pretty much everything from the warmups to overtime. First there was the kiss cam incident, and holy shit… I could have gone my entire life without my face and the strange man’s next to me being displayed on the Jumbotron with a red heart around it.
But then Foster…
I’m not sure I even have words for whatever that was.
Usually my brother is the one giving people the death stare, but the glare Foster gave that guy was so heated it could’ve melted the ice. And then he said he would destroy him if he touched me.
Me.
I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to be all calm and collected and in control of myself, but that shit was hot.
So. Fucking. Hot.
Not only am I going to be putting something like that in my novel, but I’m seriously considering changing the entire thing to sports romance.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been stuck for so long, because my ideal hero is everything I shouldn’t be wanting.
An alpha hockey player who melts for the heroine. Who can protect her from strange men on the kiss cam and then sweep her off her feet with some epic declaration of love.
Then after the swoony glass banging incident, the game started, and I swear I was about to combust. Hockey never really did anything for me, but watching Foster slam the Blazers into the boards right in front of me.
Holy fuck me.
I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
And then we went to overtime.
“Oh. My. God. Did you see that shot?” Elle squeals and fans herself, her blonde hair billowing behind her as we exit the arena and head toward the bar a couple of blocks away. “Of course, you saw it. I mean, I’m an engaged woman, and I can admit that was hot as fuck. The way he looked at you…”
“Yaasss.” Lucy grabs my arm and loops it through hers. “Ian was in the sin bin because that’s where he likes to live, giving Boston the power play advantage. But no. Foster and Rhett pass the puck the length of the ice. Foster lines up, Rhett gives him the assist, and he clinks that fucker right off the cross bar and into the net.”
“And then he looks over at us—no,Avery, and points right at her.”
“Did you see his face?”
