Page 28

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RONAN

P arker sighs dreamily as he glides onto the ice and twirls around. “Love is in the air…”

I clomp out behind him, disgust filling my chest as my eyeballs roam over the happy-faced couples in the stands. “And it’s stinking up this arena like a rotten fart.”

It’s Valentine’s Day.

February 14th.

International Face-Sucking-and-Uglies-Bumping Day.

Well, at least that’s how I view this day every year.

Can’t lie—I’m a little bummed that I don’t have anybody to suck face with today. I can think of one certain feisty someone I’d very much like to kiss. But I’m fairly sure she hates my guts most days. So that’s out of the question.

Sinks to be me.

Any other year, I’d be out, hitting up the bars today, eagerly searching for a good time and an even better night.But this year, any random woman just won’t do.

Today marks exactly fifty-two days since I met Nicky Westbrook. And she has singlehandedly flipped my identity upside down. Now, I’m completely out of sorts. Who even am I these days?

The things that mattered before Nicky just don’t matter anymore. She’s become my brain’s favorite subject, and my dick’s too.

I could sit for hours reminiscing about the way she tasted that night back in New Jersey and conjuring up the sound of her moaning my name and the way her soft curves felt beneath my palms.

But she doesn’t want to hook up again and it’s making me absolutely miserable.

Told ya. Stinks to be me.

Well, for better or worse, Face-Sucking Day also happens to be game day this year. So at least that’s a worthwhile distraction from feeling sad and lonely all day.

The Saints are about to hit the ice. This time, we’re out of town, playing an away game against North Carolina.

Even still, it’s been hard to get in the right headspace when there’s just lovey dovey couples all around. Everywhere I turn, I see lovers giving each other those sickly sweet, starry eyes. In the airport. At the hotel. At the arena. Around every corner, I see people making out, carrying roses, giving each other balloons and chocolates, and gushing about love.

Hell, even the arena’s security guard is dressed up in a giant red heart Valentine costume.I am highly-offended on behalf of all single people out there.

So I focus on what’s important today. Playing hockey.

Our opponents tonight have been having a pretty good season so far. If we could come out on top in this game against North Carolina, it would be a big win for the Saints.

But I’m not sure my guys have much faith that things will go our way. Considering our rocky start to the season, it’s going to be a tough match. I’m trying to be optimistic, though. Because things have been on the up and up for us lately.

It was just moments ago as I was lacing up my skates in the locker room that our coach came in and began his pre-game pep talk. It started off all motivational, but as usual, the guys were being idiots. It wasn’t long before Coach got all fired up and started yelling at us.

“I get it. It’s Valentine’s Day. But keep your heads out of your chocolate-covered asses, boys. We’ve got a game to win. I don’t need to tell you how important this division match-up is.” He fisted his hands on his hips. “We’re getting way too damn comfortable letting our offense pull the weight of the team. Our defense is fourth in the league. Wake up and act like it!”

After Coach put the fear of god in us all, the team huddled around me and I finished things up with my own pre-game speech. I tried to remind the guys why we’re here in the first place. I gave it my all, encouraging them to get out there and kick ass at the game we love.

Now, we’re all out on the ice, warming up before the game. Easton skates up to my side, sneering at a homemade sign in the crowd. I take a look in that direction, chuckling when I see some woman in a red bikini under her open parka. She’s holding a sign, asking one of the North Carolina players to be her Valentine.

“Dude, why’d we have to play an away game on Valentine’s Day?” Easton complains. “If we were playing in Sin Valley tonight, the ladies would be throwing themselves at us, too.”

We continue with our warm-ups, as we talk. “Dude, how come I never noticed how much it sucks to be single on Valentine’s Day?”

I sound like a whiney baby. I don’t care.

I want love, dammit.

Tipton skates into the middle of our conversation.“Shit, normally I don’t mind being single. But I’d celebrate this holiday just to get my balls sucked.”

Parker groans. “Come on. I did not need to hear that.”

“He’s not wrong, though,” Easton says, skating closer as we work through a passing drill. “Love is a lie. Anyone who says otherwise, is just trying to get laid.”

Tipton nods emphatically. “True facts, bro.”

Parker gives Tipton a shove, moving him out of the way. “Ignore them, Captain. Let me answer your question. This Valentine’s Day sucks because I think you’ve got yourself a crush.” He grins like he’s all smart or some shit.

“Nicky. Oh, Nicky-y-y-y. Don’t stop. Hell yes.” Easton grabs at his chest and moans.

I clap a hand over his dumb, stupid mouth. He chortles, pushing away from me and gliding across the ice.

Tipton turns toward me, skating backward. “You gonna try and hook up with your hot babysitter or what?”

“Hell yeah, you should,” Easton says, taunting me. “She’s a babe.”

“Don’t call her that,” I say, already feeling defensive.

“It’s true though,” Tipton insists. “I wish I had a shot with her.”

“Shit. Me, too,” Easton mumbles.

My eyes fly to Parker. The good boy gives me a terrified shrug. “Sorry, Captain. I’d hook up with her, too. I mean, she’s really, really hot.” He flinches like he’s bracing for a hit.

My eyes shift up toward the stands, searching the arena and looking around for Nicky. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon, when she hung around the back of the hotel restaurant, eating alone, while the team ate lunch together. I felt bad, seeing her all alone on Valentine’s Day, because of me.

Yet still, a teensy part of me is glad that she’s not wasting her time hanging around with some fool who doesn’t deserve her. Like that idiot who dumped her on her birthday. That crap still grates on my nerves.

I finally find Nicky sitting in the stands with Florence and some of the team’s support staff. When my eyes land on her, I see her looking back at me, giving me all sorts of worried looks.

A small smile teases my mouth. Nicky gives me a nervous smile back.

She’s really starting to get invested in this hockey thing.She’s always super concerned about the outcome of every game. I even caught her watching hockey videos on her phone on the drive this morning. And I think the best part? Tonight, she’s not wearing one of her power suits that she usually wears to the games.

Nah. She’s wearing tight jeans with a waist-length leather jacket. Rather than her usual peach lipstick, today her lips are painted the color of licorice. Out of nowhere, I’m really, really craving licorice. In the place of her usual slicked back bun, her mahogany curls cascade from beneath the Saints beanie she stole from me the other day.

Nicky’s hair is pretty no matter how she wears it—straight or curly. But seeing her at my hockey game, wearing my toque on her head with the Saints logo displayed for the world to see—that’s a proud moment for me. That’s my favorite part of her look.

Until she shrugs out of her leather jacket and I realize that she’s wearing a Saints jersey. I squint in the low light and I can hardly believe my eyes. She’s wearing number seventeen. Seventeen. I’m number seventeen.

She’s boldly representing my team in a sea of North Carolina fans. I fucking like it.

Something squeezes inside my chest. This girl is ruining me and she doesn’t even know it. She isn’t even trying.

Meanwhile, Tipton is still nodding like a perverted bobble head. “Yeah, she’s smokin’. What are you waiting for?”

My three teammates wait for my response, staring solemnly at me like the Three Wise Men. Except they’re dumb. Really dumb.

“It’s not like that,” I mumble, just to get the guys off my back.

But it could be like that , my subconscious shouts at me.

Now’s not the time to think about Nicky, though. When the puck drops, I play my frozen little heart out. I skate my quickest. I record my fastest shots on goal. I’d have to check the stats sheet to confirm, but I’m pretty certain that tonight was my best damn game in all of my career.

The Saints win, 6-1, and I finish with two shots and two assists.

It’s the biggest Saints’ win of the season, and I’m amped about it.As a bonus, those post-game interviews go a whole lot smoother since we kicked ass on the ice tonight.

“Fuck yeah, we needed this!” Tipton exclaims, smacking the door as a small group of us exit the arena after everyone’s finished with showers and press interviews.

“Yeah, we did. Let’s all go out. We need to celebrate,” Easton suggests.

“You know what? I happen to agree with him.” Tipton is already looking up and down the street for a taxi.

A few of the married players shoot down the idea.

“I’m just going to run back to my hotel room to video-chat with my wife,” one of our enforcers announces, heading down the street in the opposite direction.

I don’t have one of those—a wife, I mean—and right now that’s making me unreasonably cranky. “Video chat’ is code for phone sex and we all know it,” I spit out.

“And what, bro? It is what it is,” another one of the married guys says as he leaves us single guys standing in the dust.

I huff.

I don’t want to go party with a bunch of single knuckleheads. I’d rather have my dream girl cuddled in my arms instead.But since I can’t get what I want tonight, I guess I’ll go to the bar. It’ll take my mind off of everything else I’m missing out on at the moment.

Tipton is searching for a bar for us on his phone app, when out of nowhere, Nicky pops out of some back door, stepping into my path. “Where do you think you’re going, Hockey Guy?” She gives me a stern school teacher look.

I open my mouth to admit that I’d rather hang out with her than with my teammates. At the sight of her, I want to open up and spill my feelings all over this sidewalk like a can of cream of mushroom soup. I know that wouldn’t work with Nicky, though.

But then a lightbulb goes off in my head.

I turn my puppy eyes on her. “Come on, Nicky. I want to go out with my friends. Pretty please? I promise to be good.”

Her manicured eyebrow jerks up her forehead. “No, not a good idea, Ronan.”

My teammates all snicker at me.

“Shut up,” I say to them.

“Later, sucker!” I hear Tipton call out as the lot of them start strolling off without me.

“This can’t be real,” I grouse. I turn a faux-angry glare on Nicky. “Y’know what? I’m getting kind of sick and tired of a five-foot-two woman bossing me around all day and night. Look. I’m going for a drink tonight!”

She seems a bit taken aback by my disagreeable attitude. After all, in our dynamic, she’s usually the one always mouthing off.

She takes a breath and tries to patiently reason with me. “You guys did so great tonight. Don’t you want the morning headlines to be about your performance on the ice? About your two huge shots? And not overshadowed by some drunken video of you guys in a bar? Because you know that’s the story the press is itching to print.”

I pinch my lips together, faking disappointment. “Dammit. You have a point. I hate when you’re right.”

“Good. You’re making the right decision, Ronan.” Looking relieved, she presses her palms together and gives me a weird little curtsey. Then she starts to walk away.

Not so fast, Peach.

“I really do want that drink, though. And I’m nowhere near ready to call it a night,” I say after her.

She spins to me, a suspicious eyebrow raised.

“How about a compromise?” I stroll up, towering over her. “You don’t want me going out with the team? Fine, then. Let’s meet in the middle.”

Hiking her heavy bag up her shoulder, she folds her arms and taps her foot on the pavement. “I’m listening…”

“You and me. Private celebration.”

Her eyes grow round. “What? No way. Absolutely not.”

I see my teammates growing smaller and smaller in the distance as they stroll the downtown sidewalk.

“Why not?” I ask her.

“My job is keeping you out of trouble, Ronan. Not entertaining you on Valentine's Day.” She tries to do her usual tough girl thing, but I hear the wobble in her voice.

I scoff. “So what if today’s Valentine’s Day? Who the heck cares? Two people can go out for a drink on Valentine’s Day and not have it be all romantic.”

“Ronan, I am not going out for a drink with you,” she deadpans.

“Fine, then, party pooper. I’m going out with the guys.” On that note, I turn to walk away, acting like I’m eager to catch up with the team before they disappear out of sight.

I don’t make it one step before Nicky is grabbing onto my arm. I stop in my tracks, instantly distracted by how amazing her touch feels.

Good grief. Why does her touch do that to me?

“Okay, okay,” Nicky spits out. “You and me. Quiet bar. Away from the crowds. One drink,” she emphasizes, holding up a single finger in my face.

My pulse revs with excitement. “Awesome. Let’s do this.” I reach for her hand. At the very last second, I catch myself.

Nicky looks at my hand like it’s infectious. “And this is not a date,” she lays down the law.

Grinning sheepishly, I give her a salute. “Whatever you say, Captain.”