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Tyler’s face turned a shade of red I’d never seen before. His fists clenched, and I could see it in his eyes—he was ready to snap. He charged at Logan, his skates cutting into the ice with fury, but before he could get close enough, two of his teammates grabbed him by the arms, pulling him back.

“Not now, man!” one of them said, trying to calm him down. But Tyler wasn’t having it.

“You’re dead, York!” Tyler shouted, still straining against his teammates, his face flushed with rage.

Logan just smirked, unfazed. He turned and gave me another sexy wink, like this whole thing was just a game to him.

I dragged my gaze away, staring at the jersey in my lap like my life depended on it. My hands were trembling, my nipples were hardened into points under my bra. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it over the noise of the crowd.

I couldn’t stop the feeling creeping up inside me.

I wanted him.

And that was terrifying.

* * *

LOGAN

The second game had a completely different feel to it. The moment I stepped onto the ice, my mind wasn’t consumed with rage toward Miller like it was in Game One. This time, I wasn’t out to settle some stupid score or get caught up in whatever bullshit rivalry we had going on. No, this time was abouther.

I could feel Sloane’s presence, even from across the rink. I knew exactly where she was sitting—front row, just behind the glass. The memory of the way she’d looked when I sent those flowers and the jersey was burned into my mind, the way her cheeks had flushed when I blew her that kiss. And now, all I wanted was to see that look again.

And again.

And again.

Preferably when she was writhing underneath me in my bed.

Forget Miller. Forget everything else. Tonight, I was playing to impress her.

The puck dropped, and we were off. I could feel the electricity in the air, the tension of Game Two thick in the arena. Tampa was fast, but we were faster. Every shift, every pass felt like we were locked in, and I could feel it building—the pressure, the anticipation.

Midway through the first period, we got a power play. I took the faceoff, locking eyes with their center for a brief second before snapping the puck back to Lincoln. The play moved fast—Ari fired it toward the net, but the goalie kicked it out, the rebound landing right in front of me.

I didn’t hesitate. I crashed the net, scooping the puck up with a quick flick of my wrist and burying it in the top corner before the goalie could react.

The red light flashed, and the crowd erupted.

But I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t celebrating with the guys. I was already skating toward the boards, straight toward Sloane’s seat. I slammed my fist against the glass, grinning like an idiot as I blew her another kiss, knowing full well the entire arena was watching.

She blushed again. That same look of surprise, like she couldn’t believe what I was doing—making her the center of attention. I felt that surge of satisfaction hit me like a shot of adrenaline.

“You need at least five more of those this series to make it up to us,” said Lincoln, patting my helmet as he skated by.

“You’ve got it, Daddy,” I said. It was only the bemused look on Lincoln’s face as we got off the ice that made me realize what I’d just said.

“Kill me now,” I muttered as Camden almost fell from laughing so hard. “I obviously didn’t mean that. It’s because you idiots are always joking about that. It was just in my head.”

“This better not ruin it for me next time Anastasia says it,” Camden finally said when he was able to form words, wiping his eyes because he was an asshole.

I dared a peek at Ari, because I definitely didn’t have the nerve to look at Lincoln.

Ari was scowling at me. He pointed a finger as he pushed through the gate and out into the action. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. You’re an even bigger simp than Disney! This is an outrage.”

He was still shaking his finger right before he slammed Miller into the ice, and I lifted a fist in victory.

“Any way we can forget that happened?” I finally muttered to Lincoln, side-eyeing him because I wasn’t brave enough to look him in the face.