Page 51 of Penalty Box

Me. Here. Playing top line for a team that used to feel so far out of reach I couldn’t even see it from the place I started. Andnow I’d put the puck bar down in overtime against the Dallas freaking Stars.

My throat tightened as the emotion rose up. Not tears, but something pretty close. The kind of feeling that squeezed in my chest and left me breathless.

“You should be with the guys.”

I turned at the sound of her voice.

Cass stood just behind me, earbuds slung around her neck, hoodie unzipped. A stray curl fell across her cheek, making my fingers itch to brush it away. Her eyes held the same tired defiance from earlier, but softer now.

“I’m fine right here, thanks,” I said.

She walked up beside me, hands in her pockets, looking out at the resurfaced ice. “Toby Keith, huh?”

I smirked. “Did it stir something deep inside you?”

“Only nausea,” she deadpanned, but the corner of her mouth tugged into an almost-smile.

I bumped her shoulder lightly. “Admit it. That was a power play.”

“Oh, it was,” she said, stepping closer until we were side by side, her arm brushing mine. “I just didn’t expect you to go that hard. Corrupting the innocent sound tech through bribery.”

“You started it.”

“Hey, I’m out here fighting for musical integrity,” she said with a laugh that made my insides all warm and mushy.

“And I weaponized country nostalgia.” I tilted my head, voice dropping low. “I’ll always win that war.”

Her breath hitched, just barely. But I felt it.

Silence stretched between us, thick as the ice beneath our feet.

“You were something else tonight,” she said finally. “The way you moved out there… how you took those hits and just kept going. It was like watching—”

She didn’t have to finish. We were both thinking it. We’d both seen enough players to know how stars were born.

I swallowed hard, her words landing in a place I didn’t expect.

“That’s kinda what it feels like. Like I’m becoming the player I always wanted to be.”

Her gaze met mine. “Good. You’ve earned it.”

The moment snapped tight, and I reached for her without thinking. Just a hand on her waist, grounding myself. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned closer.

“You smell like sweat,” she murmured.

“You smell like I should kiss you.”

Her hand lifted, fingers skimming along my jaw, feather-light. I didn’t know if I moved first or she did, but the space between us vanished into nothingness. Our mouths met in a kiss that wasn’t careful or cautious. Just pure heat.

I backed her gently into the boards, hands in her hair, her jacket bunching beneath my fingers as she gripped the hem of my shirt. Like she was using me to stay upright. Her mouth opened for me, and I tasted the sigh that fell out of her. The soft hum in her throat that wrecked me more than anything.

She kissed like she’d been waiting for this, like she was starved for it.

And I drank in every single drop.

The game, the guys… everything faded away. It was just her. The way her lips moved against mine, her tongue in my mouth, slow, devastating. Her thigh brushed mine, and I pressed harder, wanting more, wanting all of her.

Her hand fisted in my shirt, right over my heart.