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Lars huffs a sardonic laugh, overhearing the exchange. “Yet.”
24
PHOEBE
I’m sipping on my drink, sitting at a table in Nightlight, when a big, muscular arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me tight against a solid but warm mass.
“There’s my lucky charm.”
Heat skitters over me as I breathe in a whiff of Hunter’s fresh, woodsy scent. Whoever decides what soap they use to stock the showers at the hockey arena needs a raise.
The rest of the team crowd around our table, and suddenly Casey and I are surrounded by a throng of massive, hulking, hunky hockey stars.
Casey has a stunned expression as she looks at me snuggled under the crook of Hunter’s arm.
“Hearing about it is one thing,” she says, “but seeing it … someone pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming.” About a second later, she startles in her seat and lets out a high yelp. “Ouch!”
She whips her head to the side, where Hunter’s teammate Shane is standing, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Just following orders, ma’am,” he drawls.
Casey’s situationship with Nick fizzled out over the last two weeks. With the way Shane’s looking at her, I don’t think it would be hard for her to find a rebound if she were in the mood.
The way she’s looking at him, however, is distinctively less inviting.
“How exactly am I good luck?” I ask Hunter, turning my attention away from Casey and Shane.
I’m sitting on a tall stool, and he’s standing next to me. He looks down at me, his blue eyes beaming, his messy blonde hair spilling out under a red Ottawa Senators hockey cap tugged tightly over his head. He wears a light Hot Shots Varsity jacket with a button-up shirt underneath, the first two buttons undone to show off the inner ridges of his thick chest muscles.
“First time this year I’ve scored two goals in one game, and you were there. Coincidence?”
I roll my eyes. “Uh, probably.”
He leans down, his lips close to my ear. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
His hot, humid breath warms the side of my face and sends a shiver running over me. Heat pools low in my stomach as a needy feeling pangs between my legs.
“If you being in the crowd makes Hunter play like that, you need to come to all our games.” A guy with light-brown hair who I’m pretty sure is named Walsh joins us.
“Maybe it was just that dirty hit he took,” Lars joins in. “Maybe that’s what needs to happen every game instead. Someone smashes Hunter with a dirty hit and lays him down on the ice.”
I giggle. “Yeah, I think I can get behind that.”
Hunter fixes a wry look at me, his eyes narrow. “Then you’ll have to kiss my bruises all better after every game.”
I roll my eyes, sticking out my tongue and making a disgusted sound that has the rest of the guys around the table laughing.
But the fact is, Hunter’s words don’t spark any disgust inside me. Instead, they cause a weird, warm feeling to flicker in my chest.
I take another sip of my drink to distract myself from it.
“So, Shane,” I redirect the conversation, “how are the classes going?”
We all chit chat about their experiences at the rink for a while. A waitress comes by, takes our drink order, and returns with a tray full of drinks shortly after. All the while, Hunter’s arm remains slung over me, and I don’t try to shrink from under it.
All of a sudden, amusement sparks in Shane’s face. He turns to me. “Hey, you’re smart, right?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Am I?”
