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My body lights up like a livewire, my cup getting painfully tight as my dick hardens. A grin stretches across my face, unbidden. How can I not smile? I'm staring at my future and it's bright as hell.
She is not on the same page. She looks like she's staring at someone who makes her blood boil. And not in a good, sexy way. Her lips compress into a line as her little chin comes up. Pure ire filters through her expression, as if just the sight of me pisses her off.
What the fuck? What did I do?
I've only known she existed for two minutes. That's not nearly enough time for her to decide she hates me. She hasn't even officially met me yet. And not to brag or anything, but I'm fucking awesome.
I launch myself across the ice to work on proving it to her, all my attention focused on my end goal. I've never had an actual marriage fantasy in my life, but I'm hearing wedding bells.
Four of my teammates have gotten married in the last few months. Coach did too. A motherfucker is lonely and not afraid to admit it. Unlike a lot of guys in the league, I'm not interested in one-night stands or sowing wild oats or any of that shit. I want the same forever my parents found together when they were freshmen in college. I've just never found anyone who interested me enough to pursue it.
Looks like I just found out why.
"Jacks!" Miles Tempest shouts, his voice full of warning. "Look ou–"
Something cracks me in the back of the head hard enough to rattle my skull. Pain rips through my head, bringing tears to my eyes. I trip over my skates and fall hard.
I land on my back, staring up at the rafters far overheard.
Either I'm seeing shit, or there's actually a bird up there, flying around.
"Fuck!" Reid Lawless shouts. "Someone get Doc Jessup!"
"Atlas!" Noah skids to a stop, throwing up ice from his skates. He drops to his knees beside me, his worried face looming into focus above mine. "Talk to me, man."
I blink up at him, trying to think through the pounding headache. Jesus Christ. For a bookworm, Miles is a menace with a stick. That hurt like a son of a bitch.
"Say something, Atlas," Noah growls. "Talk to me."
"I'm getting married. And there's a bird in the rafters."
His shoulders slump, relief and amusement washing through his expression. Before he can say anything, Coach Marrow, Miles, and Colter Bayliss skate up.
"Goddammit, Jacks," Coach kneels on the ice near my head. "If we have to bench you, you're going to wish you took more than a puck to the head. Where the fuck is your helmet?"
"He got distracted," Noah answers for me.
"By what this time?" Coach asks as if I'm a toddler who can't stay on task. Which is honestly fair. I spend half my time in a net, talking to my damn self. I get bored. Sue me. "We haven't even been on the ice five minutes."
"Can I help?" a dulcet voice asks. "I'm a nurse. Well, nearly."
"He got distracted by her," Noah mutters quietly.
"Nearly a nurse?" Colter nudges Miles. "That sounds ominous."
I ignore them, rolling my head to the side, seeking her out. She's a few paces behind Noah, her hood pulled back. Her short golden-brown hair is wild around her face, little pieces dancing from static. Without the hood, she's even more gorgeous, glowing from the inside out.
Little lines of worry furrow her brows. How the fuck can someone be adorable and sexy at the same time?
"Yes. Help," I rasp. "It hurts."
She steps forward instantly. Noah shifts over, giving her room to squeeze in. "Where is the pain worst?" she asks, dropping to her knees beside me.
"My balls."
"Jesus Christ," Colter mutters, choking on a laugh.
"Jacks!" Coach Marrow shoots me a death glare. At least, I assume he's shooting me a death glare. I don't look at him to confirm, but I feel his disapproving glower. For a man who just got married, he's awful cranky.
