Page 150 of Almost Ravaged

This is it. I’m warmed up, suited up, and ready to fucking go.

This is what I’ve been working toward for years. This is my chance to prove myself. To unleash on the ice, to kill it during my first NCAA game.

Except…

I want to see her. Need to, if the anxiety tingling up my limbs and the tightness in my chest are trustworthy indicators.

The locker room is chaos, music blaring and guys horsing around to amp each other up. Coach hasn’t come in yet, and we’ve still got fifteen minutes until we have to be back out there.

My head’s in the game, but my heart won’t stop hammering against my ribcage.

Warm-ups may have gone well, and mentally, I’m locked in, but I won’t feel fully ready until I’ve laid eyes on her.

“I’ll be right back.” I tip my chin toward the exit.

Atty knows the deal. He knows how I get.

He slaps my pads twice. “Don’t be late. You already know she’s out there.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. But that doesn’t stop me from hustling out to find her.

She wouldn’t miss our first home game, but I still need to fucking see her.

I’m slow on my skate guards, each step heavy as I look around the mostly deserted corridor that connects the back entrance to the lobby.

I’m cursing myself for not bringing my phone out so I can text her when a cloud of copper hair catches my attention.

Instantly, all is right in the world.

“Sawyer!” I call out as she emerges from the bathroom.

She turns, locks eyes with me, and grins.

There she fucking is.

She darts over and throws her arms around my padded chest. I can’t feel her physical touch, but I still sense her. Everywhere.

“What are you doing out here?” she demands.

She’s gorgeous. Angelic. Her hair is soft and wavy around her shoulders. Her eyes are outlined in dark hunter green, her lashes extra long and thick. She’s got gold glitter freckles all over her nose and cheeks, along with the number 3 painted on one cheek and 7 on the other.

“I told you,” I choke out. “I needed to see you.”

She may roll her eyes in response, but I know she feels the impact of this, too.

This is what we’ve worked for. This is what we’ve been waiting for.

“Turn around,” I demand.

With a cheeky smile—because my girl knows exactly what she’s doing—she turns and sweeps her rusty red tendrils over one shoulder.

My chest seizes up, and I swear my vision goes spotty.

Tremblay, and the number 7.

I clench my fists so tight my knuckles go white. It takes everything in me not to reach out and trace each letter of my name on her back, right where it belongs.

She’s perfect. Tonight’s the night. After I win, I’m making her mine, once and for all.