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As we waited, I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets to ward off the chill. “Man, I hope Jeffries is okay. That puck to the mouth looked…” I grimaced.
Darren shuddered. “He’s probably gonna have a hockey smile after this.”
It was my turn to shudder. “Poor guy.” Darren was probably right, too; I couldn’t imagine anyone walking away from that without losing a tooth. And given the amount of blood on the ice, well…
I shivered again. Not every hockey player lost teeth, but it was a risk in this sport. Somehow I didn’t think even a hockey smile would make Tanner Jeffries less attractive, though. And a scar on his upper lip—hell, that could be sexy in its own way.
Of course I had a snowball’s chance in hell with a ripped hockey player almost a decade younger than me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look. I did, however, keep this crush to myself. Darren had caught on a little—he saw me get stupid whenever Tanner’s face was on the big screen—but I’d never copped to it. I’d never even told Nick about it, because I just didnotneed anyone knowing I was a thirty-five-year-old man who still got crushes on ridiculously hot athletes.
But like, whowouldn’thave a thing for Tanner Jeffries? He was on the smaller end for hockey players—around five-eight, according to his stats—and like the men he played alongside, he had that lean, sculpted look, from the thick thighs to the six-pack abs. His dark hair was usually just long enough to curl under the edges of his helmet, and those brown eyes were mesmerizing whether they were sparkling with mischief or full of intense concentration. Or when they flashed with fury just before he threw gloves—oh myGod, that was sexy. I didn’t come to hockey games for the fights, but I sure as hell didn’t mind watchinghimfight.
He was a beast on the ice (well, when his head was in the game, which it clearly hadn’t been after the first period tonight), and he was charming as all hell in interviews. I’d bookmarked dozens of videos from the team showing him goofing off with his teammates on and off the ice, and the ones where he was skating with kids? Especially the Make-A-Wish kids? When he focused on them like they were the center of his entire world? God, the things he did to my heart…
But no one needed to know about all of that, because how ridiculous was I?
A pair of headlights emerged from the reserved parking level, and some kids standing in front of us started cheering and waving. They, like us, recognized the BMW SUV belonging to Marco Adamo, the starter goalie who’d stood on his head all night. He pulled up to where we were all congregated, and he graciously signed photos, took selfies, and chatted with fans.
About the time he was moving on, a familiar scarlet red sports car came out. That was Antonov, one half of the Yellow Jackets’ top defensive pair. He slowed down and waved but didn’t stop. Not unusual.
After him, Jett Davis stopped, and after several other players drove past, Morrison, the other half of the top D pair, pulled up and stopped. By the time he moved on, the kids were beside themselves after meeting two of their idols, and they were vibrating with excitement as they craned their necks to watch for the next car.
Darren and I exchanged smiles. We, too, were always thrilled to meet some players, and we’d managed to get a couple of photos and pucks signed tonight, but watching the kids lose their minds over it was the best.
The next few players didn’t stop, though like Antonov, they waved at the fans. There’d been a bit of a lull, and I suspected the stragglers wouldn’t stop, but we were already here, so we might as well hang out just in case. While we waited, I thumbed through my newly signed photos; sometimes I gave them to my students by way of either a random drawing or some kind of game. I didn’t like doing it for high scores or anything academic; there were always kids who struggled, and they didn’t need insult added to injury. Tying it to class participation was also out, since there were students who had hardcore anxiety about that. So maybe another drawing, or I could—
Right then, one of the kids squealed with excitement and bounced up and down, pointing up the ramp.
I followed her gaze, and that starstruck feeling rippled through me as a familiar blue Ferrari came around the curve. I wondered if he’d stop; couldn’t imagine anyone would blame him for driving past on a night when he was in pain.
To my surprise, though—not to mention the delight of the kids—the car pulled to the left and slowed to a stop in front of the curb. When the tinted window came down, my heart did a little skip that no one needed to know about.
Tanner Jeffries, dressed in a light gray suit, reached out with a Sharpie in his left hand, and he chatted with the kids as he signed photos and pucks for them. He posed for a few photos, telling them not to worry about leaning against his car.
After he’d finished with all the young fans, he stuck around for us adults, too. When it was my turn, I held out a glossy eight-by-ten of him during last year’s playoffs. “Hey. Thanks for stopping.”
He looked up, that eye contact almost scrambling my brain, and he offered a faint smile. As much as he could probably manage with those stitches across his upper lip, but enough to reveal that he hadn’t, in fact, lost any teeth tonight. “I always stop for fans.”
“Yeah, but…” I gestured at my lip. “I hope that heals quick!”
He chuckled as he put the photo against his steering wheel and scrawled his signature over the ice. As he handed it back, he sort of smiled again. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Really?” I grimaced. “Looked like it hurt!”
“Oh, it did.” He winced. “Still does. But…” He half-shrugged. “Comes with the territory. And hey, he didn’t get a goal, so…”
I chuckled. “Perspective, right?” I stepped back from his car. “Anyway. Have a good night. And thanks!”
He offered a wave and another small smile. Then the engine roared, and the window went up slowly as the Ferrari followed the ramp outside.
When I turned to Darren, his eyebrow quirked. I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
“What?” He laughed as we headed down the ramp. “I didn’t say a word!”
“You were thinking it.”
“That you have a massive crush on Tanner Jeffries, even if you refuse to admit it?”
I gave him the finger.
