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Just as Bridger races across the ice to catch him, the guy rips off a shot. Wolf slides before dropping to his knees, attempting to block it. The puck hits the tip of his glove and ends up going in.
Fuck.
As the guy circles the ice, a smile pasted across his sweat-soaked face, I lower my shoulder and knock him into the boards. There’s a grunt as he slams against the Plexiglass. My shoulder crashes into it and for just a second, I meet Juliette’s wide gaze. Her mouth tumbles open in shock. The guy I hit whips around and plows his hands into my chest.
“You want to fucking go?” he roars. “Then let’s do it, McAdams!”
It’s so damn tempting to throw my gloves to the ice and beat the piss out of him. I’m being a dick and we both know it.
He outplayed me.
Outmaneuvered me.
It doesn’t happen often, and I fucking hate that it did now.
The sharp blast of a whistle rents the frigid air of the arena.
“Get your ass in the box, McAdams,” Coach bellows.
I don’t bother glancing at him. My gaze remains locked on Juliette as I take my sweet damn time skating to the penalty box before throwing myself onto the bench and tearing off my helmet. I toss the gloves to the rubber mat and plow my fingers through my damp strands.
My gaze remains pinned to Juliette as the penalty clock is set.
Even when the asshole next to her attempts to regain her attention, her eyes stay fastened to me.
It’s exactly where I want them.
Where I’ve always wanted them.
Only now can I admit that to myself.
It takes a moment to realize that the emotion burning a painful hole at the bottom of my gut is jealousy.
I don’t like it. All it’s doing is messing with my head. And that, I don’t need. Not now. Not when I have everything to lose.
With me cooling my ass in the box for two minutes, our opponents are now on a power play. We’re a man down and the other team will attempt to capitalize on that by scoring another goal. My attention should be focused on what’s happening on the ice.
If we end up losing this game because I allowed two goals to be scored, it’ll be on me.
Instead, I stare at Juliette.
CHAPTER27
JULIETTE
“That was weird. What do you think got into Ryder?” Carina whispers as I chew my nails.
It’s a bad habit I’ve tried to kick over the years. In times of great stress, I gnaw my fingernails.
And right now, standing in the lobby, waiting for Ryder to exit the locker room, I’m an anxious mess. Nerves swirl at the bottom of my belly like an impending storm, causing all sorts of havoc.
When I fail to respond, she wraps her fingers around my hand and gently lowers it from my mouth. I don’t bother looking at my nails. I’m sure they’re a pulpy mess.
Ever since Ryder was sent to the box, I’ve been chewing on them.
The look on his face as he’d glared at me…
A shiver trips down my spine.
