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He stares at me again, studying my face like he’s trying to figure me out. The only thing he’s going to see is a pissed off Brit.
“He say something about my sister?”
This time I return his gaze. “I took care of it.”
Rhett nods, his nostrils flaring and his eyes hardening before we return to watching the game. If he wants at Myers during the next game, he’s going to have to get in line.
With Rhett and I in the sin bin, the Devils are at a three to five disadvantage, and the Oilers have a good chance of scoring. But Dimitri Kozak, our Ukrainian goalie, is down on the ice, doing the splits defending our goal. These guys are on it, taking every opportunity to shoot, but Kozak isn’t letting anything by him.
And then the puck bounces off his pads, the rookie snags it, gets it halfway down the ice and fires it at their goalie, who misses, giving us a fourth point, seconds before the end of the game.
As soon as the timer runs out, I’m out of the box and across the ice, Rhett hot on my tail. I take a few deep breaths, trying to get ahold of myself, and hand off my stick to the equipment guy. The last thing I need is anyone thinking I’m a loose cannon.
“Good game, rookie.” I knock into his pads as we head to the locker room.
“It’s Gray.” He turns his back to show me his name on the back of his jersey. I know what it is, but since it’s his first year in the NHL, we all refuse to use it. “I scored two goals. Doesn’t that get me a last name?”
Rhett shoulders him out of the way and raises a brow like he’s waiting for the rookie to say something, but he doesn’t. “You might get a last name next year. If you’re lucky.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Neither is life.”
I chuckle and shake my head, following Rhett to my stall which is very inconveniently next to his. “Do you try to sound all scary and unapproachable all the time?”
“Yes.” His helmet is off and he downs a sports drink. “I was nice to you and now you’re following me around like a lost puppy. And don’t even get me started on Rag. Between games, practice, and all the dinners I’m forced to attend, I see him all the time.”
“You shut up, you big baby. You like it,” Tag teases as he tosses his jersey at Rhett from his other side and pulls off his pads.
Rhett grunts and throws his jersey back at him, but doesn’t say anything.
Of course, Tag keeps talking and I turn around to face my stall. As much as I’m trying to ignore it, the rage still simmers just under the surface of my skin. Festering. Gnawing at my insides.
I know what I need, and it’s the one thing I shouldn’t.
Her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
My fingers fly over the keyboard of my laptop as I praise the Hockey Gods for striking me with such inspiration.
Really, it was Foster.
He played like a beast tonight, then toward the end when he got in that fight… I had chills. Literal chills. He showed no mercy and gave zero fucks when he got his chin split open. It was almost like he didn’t notice the blood trickling down his jersey.
Like he was too focused.
Too pissed.
When they zoomed in on his face as he skated to the penalty box, I almost fell off the couch.
Talk about an actual swoon.
I think it’s safe to say I’m not in control of my emotions when it comes to him tonight. Last night too, if I’m being honest.
It’s a slippery slope I need to be careful not to fall down, because we aren’t anything more than friends.
That’s what my heroine is trying to convince herself of, too. After a few fake dates with the hero—surprise—after costing his team the cup and knocking out a news reporter, AJ’s reputation is in the shitter, and he needs the girl next door to help him fix it. Why the girl next door? Because they hate each other, and there’s no way either of them will let a few innocent kisses for a camera turn this into a real relationship. Sadie is really trying to hang on to her hatred, but AJ is slowly wearing her down.
