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He pointed at me and then raised his hands…in a heart sign.
Like he had in every game since that first time.
I squirmed in my seat and Blake shot me a knowing glance from beside me.
Warmups finished and Lincoln lined up at center ice, his stick tapping in a rhythmic cadence, a fierceness in his eyes that was…freaking hot. The arena's lights gleamed brightly overhead, casting a spotlight on the pristine ice surface.
The ref dropped the puck, and in an instant, the game was underway. The clash of sticks, the sharp scrape of blades against ice, and the unmistakable thud of body checks echoed through the arena, creating a pulse of energy that surged through the crowd.
The play unfolded with breathtaking speed and precision. Players weaved through the neutral zone, passing the puck with pinpoint accuracy. Shots were fired on the goals, each one accompanied by a collective intake of breath from the crowd. The goaltenders made spectacular saves, and the crowd groaned and cheered with every near-miss, every breakaway, and every thunderous hit along the boards.
We were at the end of the first period when Lincoln finally managed to break through the opposing team's defense. He deftly maneuvered the puck, his stick slicing through the air, and then, with a flick of his wrist, Lincoln released the puck.
It soared through the air, a perfectly executed shot that left no doubt in anyone's mind.
The puck was going in.
It slipped past the goaltender's defenses and into the back of the net.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and I jumped to my feet, my heart pounding with excitement and pride for my man.
“Suck it, Conroe,” Walker yelled, and Ari glanced at him, impressed.
"Disney, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I hate that guy. He shared a video online last year before we played each other that was just a montage of goals scored against me. Fucking douchebag,” he griped as he lifted his shirt.
Ari followed suit with a big grin on his face and I turned to stare at what was painted on their chests.
“We Love You” was on Ari’s chest, and “Golden Boy” was on Walker’s.
I snorted as the women in the crowd went absolutely wild as the cameras panned on Walker and Ari’s perfect chest and abs and they appeared on the Jumbotron.
The crowd suddenly hushed abruptly though, and I glanced at the ice to see if something had happened. Only to see Lincoln.
He had torn off his jersey and was standing there in his hockey pads, his arms folded across his chest.
His face was very unamused as he stared at me, and I froze.
“Looks like Linc just noticed your jersey,” Blake whisper-yelled next to me.
“I think you're right,” I responded, unable to take my eyes away from Lincoln.
He skated over to the glass in front of us and banged on it, releasing a tirade filled with a bunch of f-bombs. His glance went to Ari who had the biggest grin I’d ever seen on his face, and he made a slicing motion across his neck.
“I will kill you,” he mouthed.
I sighed. “Great. Now you’re going to get him kicked out of the NHL because he just threatened you on national television.”
“Nah. We’re giving the people a show. And the big guys always like a show,” he snorted as we continued to watch Lincoln lose it.
Lincoln skated over to the bench and threw his jersey to an assistant, pointing to me as he did so. I stood there, in utter mortification as the assistant scrambled up the stairs like his ass was on fire and handed me a jersey.
“Please put this on before I lose my job,” he begged as a bead of sweat fell down his forehead that was out of place in the cold arena.
Lincoln had somehow come up with another jersey and was slipping it on as he skated over to watch and make sure I put it on.
I fumbled for a moment as I hastily removed Ari's jersey from over my long sleeve top, and slipped into Lincoln's. The moment the fabric settled on my skin, the grateful assistant scurried back to the bench.
