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Shields firmly in place.
I inhaled, shook my head slightly at her, letting her know I understood exactly what she game she was playing.
Then I bent so I was level with the kids, turned back to the cameraman, and called, “One more photo, yeah?”
Kurt joined me.
Billie Rose stepped away.
I smiled for the cameras, but all I could think was that the woman was a menace.
And that I’d been expertly played.
Again.
“Fuck, man,” Fox said, tearing off the tight black undershirt he wore under his gear and sending it into the bin set aside for dirties that had been plunked in the middle of the locker room by the equipment staff.
It landed with athwumpthat spoke to exactly how hard we’d played.
That spoke to the same feeling of adrenaline swirling in my belly, settling deep and filling us all with satisfaction.
Because as far as home openers went, this one was off the fucking charts.
Offthe charts.
The arena only held just over three thousand people and, if I was being honest, before the fire, it was only completely sold out on evenings and weekends. Most of the working folks in River’s Bend couldn’t afford to take off time from work to watch a mid-week, daytime game.
And our schedule featured plenty of those.
Tonight, though, was a Friday.
Tonight, though, was the first big event in town in more than three months.
The town was coming back, and this evening had proved it.
There was a buzz in the air that had fed us, and our game was…on fucking point.
We’d demolished those fuckers.
And I’d loved every single second about it.
I hadn’t cared that I was still waiting for my plans to be approved so the insurance company’s contractor could start rebuilding my house. I hadn’t cared that my friend, Axel, had found out some serious drama and that it had all nearly gone sour with him and Bailey before he’d gotten his head together. I hadn’t cared that Billie Rose had left me naked and on that stupid fucking couch, waking up alone and with a goddamned crick in my neck.
And a boner only she could soothe.
Tonight, I hadn’t thought about any of that.
I’d just played hockey and had done it well and if seeing a glimpse of blonde curls in the stands had given me a little extra strength and speed and motivation, then I wasn’t focusing on that.
Instead, I grinned at Fox, sent my shirt sailing. “That was good,” I said.
He grinned back. “Fuckingexcellent.”
No,we’dbeen good, but Fox, alone, had been excellent. Settled into his game in a way I knew that meant we’d soon be filling a hole in our roster because he’d be playing up a level.
I didn’t tell him that.
If anything, hockey players were superstitious, and no way would I verbalize that to the man himself and risk jinxing anything. I’d think it. I’d share it with someone else if they asked who should be there.
