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And even though I know that’s a problem, it sure doesn’t feel like one right now.
The way his strong arms feel around me, the way his lips feel on my neck, make me feel like this is exactly where I belong—even though the turned lock on his door tells us both that this is the last place I’m supposed to be.
21
LIAM
I’m having one of the worst practices I’ve had in a long time. And when I look to the side of the rink and see Zoey standing there, taking pictures through the plexiglass for another of her social media projects, it’s no mystery why.
She’s wearing a Hot Shots jersey. Number 19 to be exact.
That’s not my number.
When she turns around to walk up the stairs to get another vantage point for a new picture, I see another man’s name written across her back.
I practically snarl, my hands wrapping tightly around my hockey stick.
Does she have any idea how badly she’s torturing me by wearing another man’s jersey?
I’m sure she doesn’t. I mean, why would she? Who would guess I’d turn into a fucking cave man just because I see her wearing a jersey that isn’t mine?
But that’s exactly how I feel.
“Get your head in the game, Liam!” Hunter shouts at me as I miss his pass that I’m supposed to catch to complete the drill Coach has us working.
When I turn my face in his direction, I see red. That fucking number 19 stamped on the front of his jersey makes me imagine for a second that it’s his neck my fingers are curling around instead of the handle of my hockey stick.
Ever since that night Zoey spent in my bedroom, I’ve been thinking more and more about how badly I wish I could make her mine, for real. But I know it’s not possible.
And seeing her wearing a jersey that isn’t mine is like a gut punch that drives that sad fact home.
I cringe as the sharp, shrill sound of Coach’s whistle cuts across the air. His eyes fall harshly on me for missing my cue in that passing scheme.
If he only knew what exactly it was that was distracting, his gaze would be a lot harsher than it already is …
“Let’s try that again!” he shouts. “And this time, get your head out of your ass, Newcastle!”
“Yes, Coach!” I call back.
Pushing down all thoughts of Zoey—which sure as fuck takes a lot of willpower to do—I get into position and try to force my mind back where it’s supposed to be.
On the game that’s supposed to be my future—not on the daughter of the man who has the power to put that future in jeopardy if he finds out what we’ve been doing behind his back.
* * *
After practice,I get out of the shower and get dressed first. As I wait for the other guys, I take out my phone and open my conversation with Zoey.
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Zoey
???
The jersey.
Zoey
Oh, the jersey I’m wearing? You don’t like it?
