Page 21 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

FIRE & ICE

Bennett

T he stadium is electric, buzzing with energy as the All-Star Charity Game kicks off under the bright lights.

The air smells like popcorn, beer, and that sharp chill of icy air.

Even though I’m not playing, I feel the rush of it, the anticipation curling in my stomach like I’m about to jump the boards for the face-off.

But instead of being on the ice, I’m here, in the stands, next to Lucy. And somehow, that’s even better.

She’s perched on the edge of her seat, elbows braced against the railing as she watches the game unfold with rapt attention. The woman is locked in. Focused. Yelling at plays like she’s coaching from the stands. And it’s hot as hell.

“Your boy’s looking shaky in the net,” I tease, nodding toward her team’s goalie, who just let in a soft one.

Lucy whips her head toward me, eyes narrowed. “He’s having an off night.”

I grin, tipping my beer toward her. “An off night at an All-Star game? Yikes.”

I can’t help teasing her a little—especially not after she went on, and on, and on about how she loves Wyatt McMasterson. The guy’s alright, but sheesh. Listening to her drone on about him— kill me.

She shoves my shoulder, but she’s fighting a smile. “Remind me, where’s your jersey, Wilder?”

I take a long sip of my beer, licking the foam off my lip. “Right where it should be. In the rafters of victory.”

Lucy groans. “That was weak.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t change the fact that your team is about to lose.”

She glares at me, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “It’s not even close to being over yet.”

We settle in, sharing a plate of nachos that are more cheese than chip, fighting over the ones with the best toppings.

The game stays close, but as the final minutes tick down, Team Fire seals the deal with an empty netter.

The buzzer sounds, and I turn to Lucy, stretching my arm along the back of her seat.

“Looks like you’ve got a bet to pay up on.”

She exhales through her nose, giving me a long-suffering look. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re gonna look great in my jersey.”

Lucy groans but holds out her hand. “Fine. Give me the damn thing.”

I reach into the bag I stashed under my seat and pull out a brand new #88 Wilder jersey. “Oh, I bought a special one just for the occasion.”

She rolls her eyes but takes it, standing up to slip it over her head. It’s massive on her, drowning her in fabric, and the sight of my name stretched across her back does something to me I’m not ready to unpack.

Lucy drops back into her seat, huffing. “Happy now?”

I lean in, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear. “Ecstatic.”

Her breath hitches, but she covers it by grabbing a nacho and stuffing it in her mouth. “You’re the worst,” she mutters around it.

I chuckle, settling back in, draping my arm along the back of her seat again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The game has ended and people around us begin shuffling toward the exits, but it seems neither of us is in a hurry.

“Nah,” I say, watching her from the corner of my eye.

“This might just be the best date I’ve ever been on. ”

Lucy pauses mid-chew, her gaze flicking to mine. “This is a date?”

I shrug, taking another sip of my beer. “Feels like one.”

I’m going out on a limb here, and it’s entirely possible she’s about to check me into next week, put me firmly in my place. But she doesn’t… She stares at me for a long second before shaking her head.

“You’re impossible.”

I smile. “And you’re still wearing my name on your back.”

Lucy sighs, but there’s no real heat behind it. She steals a sip of my beer, and grabs another nacho. And if I weren’t already completely gone for this woman, this moment might just do me in.

Hockey is already the greatest sport in the world, but watching it with Lucy? Knowing she’s as into it as I am? Damn near erotic.

And now, she’s wearing my jersey.

My name stretched across her back, my number printed bold. It shouldn’t be doing things to me. But it is.

I gather up our empty cups and trash, and Lucy rises to her feet.

“Ready?” she asks, and I give her a wordless nod, forcing my eyes off the smooth column of her neck, the curve of her shoulder where my too-big jersey hangs off her frame. My mind is already ten steps ahead, thinking about later. Back at the hotel.

One room. One bed.

Hell.

Hockey has always been my first love, but tonight? It’s straight-up foreplay. And I have no idea where this is leading, but I know one thing for sure—this game might be over, but the real showdown is just getting started.

Back at our hotel, Lucy steps into the elevator first, her movements easy, unbothered, like she’s not wearing my name on her back. Like she hasn’t been messing with my head all night.

I follow, jabbing the button for our floor a little too forcefully. The doors slide shut, locking us into this too-small space, and suddenly, the air feels different. Charged. Like right before a puck drop, that electric anticipation buzzing under my skin.

She leans back against the wall, arms folded across her chest, one hip jutted out just enough to make my brain short-circuit.

“You’re awfully quiet, Wilder,” she muses, tilting her head. “That Fire win got you emotional?”

I huff out a laugh, and shove my hands into my pockets because if I don’t, I might do something reckless. Like press her against that wall and show her exactly what’s been on my mind all damn night.

“Just savoring the moment,” I say, letting my gaze drag over her, taking my time. “You, in my jersey. Looks good on you, by the way.” My voice comes out a little too deep—a little too husky.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of something else there—something knowing, something that makes my blood run hot.

“Don’t get used to it,” she says, feigning nonchalance. “This is a one-night-only deal.”

I step closer, closing some of the space between us. Not touching, but close enough that I can see the rise and fall of each breath. Close enough that I catch the faintest whiff of whatever the hell perfume she wears that drives me insane.

“One night’s all it takes, Quinn.” My voice comes out lower, rougher.

She lifts a brow. “For what?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, but neither of us moves.

“For you to start liking it,” I say, voice slow and deliberate. “Maybe even liking me.”

Her lips part, just slightly, and damn if I don’t track the movement like I’m starved for it.

“Good luck with that, Wilder,” she says, but it’s weaker than before, like I’ve finally knocked her a little off-balance.

We step out into the hallway together, her a half step ahead of me, and I swear, watching the sway of her hips might actually kill me.

Lucy steps into the hotel room first, and tosses her keycard onto the dresser like this is just another night. Like she didn’t spend the last hour sitting next to me, drinking my beer, eating off my plate, wearing my name on her back, and making me think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

I follow, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click. The air shifts. It’s just the two of us now. No roaring crowd, no cameras, no outside world pressing in. Just Lucy in my jersey, in my space, in my head.

She turns to face me, and I swear, if she says something casual, something normal, I might actually lose my mind.

“You okay, Wilder?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer.

No, I’m not okay.

I’m wired. Every nerve ending is lit up, dialed to her, and my body is two steps ahead of my brain, already pulling toward her like gravity’s got its own agenda.

I take a slow step forward. Then another.

She watches me, unreadable but unflinching. Daring me.

“You wear my name too well, Quinn,” I murmur, voice rough, thick with everything I’m holding back. “Kind of makes a guy want to stake his claim.”

Her breath catches, just barely, and that’s it. That’s the moment I snap.

I close the distance in a heartbeat, backing her against the wall, caging her in without even touching her—yet.

Her chin tilts up, her lips parting slightly, and my pulse hammers so hard I can hear it. Feel it in my throat, in my fingertips itching to close the final gap.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my breath ghosting against her cheek, my hands braced on either side of her head.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she fists the front of my shirt, yanking me the last inch forward, and then my mouth is on hers, and— damn .

It’s fire.

It’s a full-body, mind-numbing, holy-shit-this-is-happening kind of kiss.

Her lips are soft, but the way she kisses me? Not soft at all. It’s demanding, reckless, like she’s wanted this just as badly as I have, and now we’re both making up for lost time.

I press her harder against the wall, one hand cupping her jaw, the other finding her waist, fingers digging in like I need to hold on to something.

She gasps against my mouth, and I take full advantage, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of hunger into it, dragging my teeth along her bottom lip just to hear her sharp inhale.

I want more. So much more.

My hands slide down, skimming over the soft fabric of my jersey, down lower until I find the soft curves of her ass. It’s perfect. I could lose my damn mind over that alone.

“Quinn,” I rasp between kisses, my forehead pressing against hers, my breath heavy. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She looks up at me, eyes dark, lips kiss-bruised, and smirks.

“Oh, I think I do,” she murmurs, fingers sliding into my hair, tugging slightly, and— damn —my restraint is hanging by a thread.

I groan, head tipping back slightly before I bring my gaze back to hers. “Keep pushing me and see what happens.”

She licks her lips, deliberately slow, eyes flicking to my mouth. “Maybe I want to see.”

I might actually die in this room tonight.