Page 29 of Hotshot

Fuck it.If he showed, he showed. If not, I’d have to go all bounty hunter on him again. Or let it go and figure something else out.

I opened the sliding glass door to the deck. A dusting of snow covered the wide planks and the steps leading to the sprawling lawn. No porch lights, no street lamps, just a sliver of moon in the otherwise pitch-dark sky. I wished Bess were here. I missed my old life. The one I’d had two years ago. Christ, I even missed my ex. I was in exile in a strange land where no one but the bartender remembered my name.

This was hell. It was a pretty version, but…it still sucked.

I pulled my cell out and hallelujah, there was a message from Denny.

Okay.

I breathed out a sigh of relief.Thank you, baby Jesus.

Remember when I claimed to be charming? Not impressed so far? Fair. I needed another shot. I was going to charm the hell out of Denny Mellon if that was what it took to win the PR game and turn this mill around. Dad was right. I had to make this offer so appealing, he couldn’t say no.

And yes…I was going to wear my fucking cowboy hat.

5

DENNY

Sweat dripped from my brow, tickling my nose. I ignored it.

I had strict rules about face-off etiquette. No blinking, no talking, no unnecessary movement. I didn’t goad the opponent with silly distractions. I didn’t rely on tricks, and I didn’t feel the need to intimidate. I didn’t need to read anyone else’s mind or worry about who they’d pass to on the off chance they should win.

My only focus was the puck. It was mine. All mine.

“How’s it goin’, Mellon? Got any plans tonight? Hot date? You’re not ugly. I could probably hook you up with my ex…or her brother. You into dudes?”

The urge to roll my eyes was strong, but I didn’t flinch. My mind and my body worked like a well-oiled machine. Nothing Dallas’s forward could say would pull my attention from the circle. Sure, I was new to the NHL, but I’d heard it all. Disparaging remarks about my family, my friends, my girlfriend, my looks, my sexuality…bring it. None of that registered.

When I was on the ice, I had ice in my veins. It was like an elemental sync. I was the ice I skated upon. I was connected to the blades on my feet and the stick in my hands. And once I hadthe puck, I was unstoppable. I was fast, I was savvy, I played hard and sometimes mean. This was my game, and no one could fucking take this from me.

So, sure moron…I was into dudes. Specifically, the cowboy I couldn’t stop thinking about—and propositions. The things I wanted and things he wanted. I should have been freaked out of my mind. He’d seen me at my worst—drunk, naked, slurring, sick. And he knew I was bi. Hank had ammunition to make my life very uncomfortable. Yet all he wanted was an ally.

It was…confusing.

More about that later. I had a face-off to win.

I relaxed into my pose, a firm but supple grip on my stick as the ref slid between us with the puck in hand. A second later, it was on the ice in the center of the circle. A nanosecond later, it was mine.

Told you.

I raced to the blue line and passed to Trinsky, deking around Dallas’s enforcer and losing him as I neared the goal. The angle was shit, but I’d practiced this shot till my fingers had bled in high school, and I’d kept it in my back pocket for moments like this when my team needed a mini miracle to pull off a win.

Dallas was a better team, but the fact that this was a tied game with a minute left in the third period meant we had a chance to pull off a win. I just needed Trinsky to play keep-away with Farmer so I could get free and—here it was…a narrow gap in the lower left side of the net that the goalie couldn’t defend if Farmer passed to me…now.

The puck hit my stick like a magnet. I boxed out the defender, lowered my hip, and let it fly. Andboom!The lamp lit and my teammates swarmed, tapping their sticks to mine and roaring their approval.

Fifty seconds later, we won. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a W and damn, it felt really fucking nice.

The crowd stomped their feet, chanting “Hotshot” as I skated the perimeter. With my stick raised and a stupid grin on my face, I soaked up the hometown good vibes. I didn’t love the nickname and I wasn’t a showboat, but this was my happy place.

I could happily stay out here till well after the lights were turned off, skating, skating, skating. Life was easy on the ice. I was confident, assertive, and decisive. I could lead the team…no problem.

But the familiar claw of uncertainty weaseled its way under my collar as I headed for the tunnel, telling me I was a fraud, a fake. I didn’t belong here. My throat tightened with every step, restricting air till I felt like I might choke on my own breath.

Trinsky bumped my elbow, pulling me to the surface. “Nice game, man.”

“Thanks.”