Page 10

TEN

Blake

Game three.

I’m both excited and nervous.

Excited because I love hockey and everything about playing for the Phantoms.

Nervous because there’s so much on the line.

A little bit scared that I’m going to somehow fuck this up, because that’s what I do.

In a way, I’ve always taken hockey for granted.

It’s what I’m good at, what I’ve always excelled at.

Until college.

That’s when I started to party, started taking for granted that my natural athleticism would get me where I wanted to go.

Without putting in the work.

Without making sacrifices.

Without giving it my all.

Because I hadn’t.

And I’ve paid for it in more ways than just my career.

I’ll never be able to repay that loan my parents took out to send me to that fancy boarding school, so my relationship with my dad has suffered. Not that I asked them to, but I do feel bad about it.

I’m probably one of the best players on the Rebels, but it’s never been quite enough to get me to the NHL and a bit of a case of too little, too late.

Everything that’s fucked up in my life is entirely my own fault, which makes it that much more frustrating.

Tonight, I’m filled with anxious energy and butterflies in my stomach as we make our way down the tunnel to the bench. I’ve done this hundreds of times before, but never for a crowd like this. And this is the home crowd. Not my home, necessarily, but the Phantoms’ home. They’re on fire, too. These fans have been waiting a long time for the opportunity to see us in a playoff run, and I don’t want to be responsible for letting them down.

I know it’s a team sport and my contribution is part of a bigger machine that makes us a cohesive group, but it’s a totally different dynamic than what I’m used to. Everything is amped up to a higher intensity, and the pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before professionally.

On the bright side, Ivan is back in the line-up tonight, and he adds a level of power that was missing in game two, so I’m looking forward to being on the ice with him.

“Let me know if you think your stitches open up,” I hear Rowan tell him.

He nods and heads to center ice, ready to take the first faceoff of the game.

I slide onto the bench next to Bodi, who’s on the second line tonight, and he glances at me.

“You’re buzzing like you’re on something,” he says, his voice low. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just a bundle of nerves for some reason. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

“Bodi.” Coach Vanek taps him on the shoulder, and he hops over the boards.

I feel Rowan behind me before I see or hear her, but her voice is a whisper as she leans over.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” she says. “Both for a count of eight. Release slowly. It’ll help with the jitters.”

Then she’s gone, almost as if I’d imagined her voice in my ear. She usually stands off to the side, not directly behind us, so I don’t know how she heard my conversation with Bodi. But I heed her advice and start taking slow, deep breaths.

Sure enough, my heart rate settles down a bit, and my stomach isn’t quite as queasy.

I never thought it would be cute, studious Rowan who helped calm me down, but as I gaze down the bench to where she’s standing, I realize she’s not that teenage girl I once loved anymore. She’s not just a grown woman, but also a professional who’s excellent at her job. It hasn’t even been a week yet, but I’ve already started to respect the hell out of her.

Hopefully, I’ll do something to earn hers in return.

Time to score another goal.

All my worry and anxiety fades the moment my skates touch the ice.

I get my stick on the puck within a few seconds and skate fast toward the Blizzard’s goalie. There are guys on either side of me, but I’m so focused on the goal, I barely notice them.

A flick of my wrist sends the puck spinning, hitting the post, and bouncing back. I get the rebound and wind up, shooting it hard toward the net.

To my shock, it goes in.

That beautiful little red light goes off, and then I’m caught in a group hug by my teammates.

“That’s the way to do it!” Bodi thumps me on the back.

Ivan is still on the ice since we didn’t manage a full line change, and he gives me a nod.

“That’s the way, my friend.”

I skate back to the bench, and my eyes meet Rowan’s.

Then she winks.

Something she used to do during my games in high school.

And the memory makes me smile.

Unfortunately, my goal is about the only thing that goes right the rest of the game. The Blizzard beats us 4-1 and we just looked sloppy out there. There’s no other way to explain it. There were two fights—Bodi in one, Connor in the other—and more penalties than a team in the playoffs should ever take. The Blizzard had their share but not like us.

It was a rough, gritty game that leaves us all a little beaten down.

Gabe tweaked his knee again, Connor hurt his hand in the fight, and Ivan seems a little sluggish. On top of that, it appears that all the guys need Rowan for something afterward. I’ve been taking my time, hoping to talk to her, and thank her, but I can’t get near her because of everyone else’s needs.

“Are we getting out of here?” Bodi asks for the third time after we’ve done a few post-game interviews, showered, and gotten dressed.

“Yeah, let’s go.” We head down the hall toward the players’ parking lot when I notice Rowan leaning against the wall. Her eyes are closed and she’s using her right hand to massage her left shoulder.

It looks like she’s in pain, and I instinctively slow down.

“Hey,” I call to her, breaking off from Bodi.

“Hi.” She immediately stands up straight and forces a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I just wanted to thank you,” I say. “For helping me at the beginning of the game. It worked.”

“I’m glad. You’re welcome.”

“You, uh, heading home?”

“Yeah.” She bends and picks up a small duffel bag.

“Which way are you going? I’ll walk you out.”

“We don’t park in the players’ lot,” she says. “But it’s fine. I don’t need an escort.”

“It’s late,” I protest.

“Hey, you go ahead and walk her out,” Bodi calls. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Great.” I turn and walk in the opposite direction.

“I’m really fine on my own,” she says, though she falls into step beside me.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a gentleman.”

She glances over at me, like she wants to say something, but then just nods.

“Thank you.”

We walk in silence the rest of the way, and I realize where she parks is on the other side of the arena. “Damn, they have you guys in the boonies.”

“It’s okay. There’s security, and it’s easy to get to from the back entrance of the arena.”

“That’s good.”

Damn, why does this feel so awkward?

I wish I knew what came over me to want to walk her to her car, but deep down I know the reason.

She’s still the prettiest girl in school.

The one whose smile makes me happy.

The one who apparently whispers in my ear before a game to calm me down.

And the one who still winks when I score.

Neither of us are the same people, and yet, here we are a decade later, reliving some of the past. Just not the really fun parts—the parts that happen naked.

“Okay, my car is just over there.” She pushes the door with her left arm and immediately winces. “Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.

“Just been overdoing it a little,” she says. “My arm is sore, but I’ll take a muscle relaxer tonight and it’ll be fine in the morning. If it’s not, I’ll talk to the doc.”

For some reason, as soon as the door closes behind us, I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder. “Where?”

“What?” She looks down at my hand in surprise.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Oh. It’s here.” She touches an area just below the curve of her shoulder. “But I don’t think—” She moans as I gently squeeze with my fingers. “Oh, hell, that feels good.”

“Here, let me do something for you. You’ve done so much for us the last few days.” I softly start to massage her shoulder and top of her arm. I use my thumbs to dig into the knot I feel, and her chin drops to her chest.

“God, Blake, that’s perfect…right there.”

Her words remind me of another time she said something similar, but I wasn’t massaging her shoulder then. No, I was working on parts much farther south. And her voice was a lot huskier.

My cock jumps to attention, and I quickly end that train of thought.

At least, I do my level best to end it.

“Is it all right if I go under your shirt?” I ask. “It’s hard to get traction over the top you’re wearing.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” She doesn’t move to stop me, so I slide my hand up her back.

Her skin is still silky smooth, just as I remember it, and though I make sure my fingers don’t touch anything they’re not supposed to, it’s killing me knowing that her breasts are so close.

“How’s this? Tell me when.” I get a good grip on the shoulder and increase pressure until she jerks a little.

“That’s too much,” she whispers.

“Okay.” I ease off and slide my fingers down to her shoulder blade, slipping beneath the sports bra she’s wearing. I find another knot there and go to work, trying to focus on making her feel good without letting her see how much it’s impacting me to be able to touch her again.

“How’s this feel?” I ask, kneading the curve of her shoulder and bicep, noting that she hasn’t moved, isn’t acting like she’s uncomfortable or wants me to stop. And if I’m honest, I don’t want to stop. Ever .

“It’s really nice,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize how tight everything was until now. Thank you.” She slowly lifts her head and our faces are inches apart.

My eyes find hers in the semi-darkness, and it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. Is she as aroused as I am? Her body language says yes, but her eyes are filled with conflict.

I stop rubbing her shoulder and let my hand slowly drift down across her back, enjoying the warmth of her skin, before finally pulling free of her shirt. She shudders ever so slightly, even though it’s not cold out, and I can’t help but bring my hand up to cup the side of her face.

“You’re still the prettiest girl I know,” I say softly.

She gently nuzzles my hand, her eyes never leaving mine.

Her lips are slightly parted, and I recognize the longing.

That hasn’t changed at all.

She wants me to kiss her.

“Rowan…” I lean forward, edging closer, until my lips are a fraction of an inch from hers. “I want to kiss you.”

“I…” She blinks and then abruptly steps back. “I don’t think… I mean, we can’t, er, that’s a really bad idea.” She shakes her head and digs her keys out of her pocket. “Thank you for, uh, the massage. It really helped, but I’m not interested in rekindling anything, Blake. We’re better off as friends, you know? Anyway, I have to get going. Good night.” She turns and all but runs toward her car.

I watch for a moment before turning to go back inside.

Except the fucking door is locked.

Dammit.

Now I’m going to have to walk all the way around the fucking arena.

And I didn’t even get to steal a kiss from the prettiest girl I know.