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. . .

“That was a good shot.”

My body freezes in motion, my stick raised, mid celebration dance, because yeah, it was a damn good shot.

Except I thought I was alone. Hence the dance moves.

And the fact that I stripped out of my jersey and shoulder pads and was only wearing my sports bra right now.

A blush runs across my neck and up my cheeks as I turn toward the person who walked in on my precious few spare minutes of ice time.

My eyes travel over the black jogger pants, and the cut-off t-shirt sporting an All Saints logo on it, before colliding with a pair of the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Not just green but crystal green, like my favorite mint-chip ice cream or Aventurine gems. The look he gives me causes shivers to run over my skin, not from being on the ice but from the heated way he keeps staring at me, like he’s never seen me before.

The longer I hold his stare, the tighter his ridiculously plump lips get.

I let my gaze fall, suddenly remembering where I am, who I am.

It doesn’t matter that he has a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, or messy dark blond hair that looks like he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

He doesn’t know me, but I know him. The whole town knows Hawke Sheppard, All Saint Academy’s star quarterback.

“Thanks,” I manage to finally say, even though I sound like a bumbling idiot now.

I was staring at him. Full on running my eyes over his beautiful face and making it awkward when all he did was tell me it was a nice goal.

Embarrassment starts to build in my stomach, and I reach down for my discarded long sleeve shirt, doing my best to ignore him.

“You don’t normally practice here, do you?” he asks, drawing my attention back up to his face again.

One, two, I blink and look down again, grabbing my shoulder pads and avoiding his stare. “Ah, sometimes. I zam the ice for cash when Alfe can’t. In return, he lets me use the ice for a few minutes beforehand.”

Glancing at the giant clock I see that I’m out of spare time and need to get on actually cleaning the ice.

“I thought so. I would have noticed you before if you were here every day.” Hawke surprises me when he keeps up the flow of conversation.

Except now I’m at a loss for words again.

He would have noticed me? We stare at each other once more until he finally does that awkward cough and clear your throat thing, dropping his eyes.

His hands slide into the pockets of his pants and my eyes follow the movement until my brain catches up.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “I better get to it,” I call up to him and start moving toward the Zamboni entrance.

“Oh, yeah.” He bobs his head, the toe of his shoe connecting lightly with the railing in front of him. “See you around, Emmarys.”

He says my full name before turning on his heel and heading back into the connected field house.

My mouth drops open and a flush spreads all over my body.

What just happened? I talked to Hawke Sheppard, All Saint’s golden QB, and he knew my name.

Mr. Perfect, All-American, the town’s hero, knew my name.

My full name. He didn’t call me Emma or Em like my friends and relatives.

Emmarys. The only other person who ever calls me Emmarys is my mom and usually it's when she’s mad or trying to get her point across to me that hockey isn’t life, and I need to quit practicing my shot and get inside for dinner.

The slamming of a locker room door behind the bleachers gets my attention.

Glancing at the clock, I realize I’m now behind schedule.

Quickly, I shuffle the net off the ice and scramble up to the Zamboni.

Once I’m swirling around on the ice, my heart finally stops thudding in my chest and I convince myself that this is a one-off.

Crimson Bay is not that big of a town. I’m sure he’s seen me around just as I’ve seen him around.

Also, it's widely known that there is a rivalry between his private school, All Saint High, and Crimson Bay public high school where I attend.

Our teams in various sports are always out to best each other.

My best friend, Riley, and her ex-best friend, Reign, are the epitome of rivals in this town to the point that we have a running prank war happening.

So Hawke knowing who I am is not that surprising but him actually talking to me, is.

I need to let it go though. We’re from two different worlds.

Hawke grew up wealthy, getting the opportunity to enjoy his sport and thrive in it.

My parents both work hard and we’re afforded a decent living, yet we’re still looked down upon by the snobs who attend All Saints Academy.

While I love playing hockey, and I’m damn good at it, I have to work hard in order to afford my equipment and skates each season.

Even though Hawke was nice to me right now, there could never be anything between us.

We’re opposites, from the opposing sides of town.

Mortal enemies. A crush on Hawke Sheppard will only break me.

Hawke , 17 years old

I’m an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.

After two years, I finally have Emmarys Lawson alone and all I can come up with is That was a good shot and You don’t normally practice here, do you?

I couldn’t have sounded more stupid. Although considering how my thoughts usually run when I’m thinking about Emmarys, or when I see her around town, my attempt at small talk was normal.

Basic. Completely opposite to the stalkerish things I wanted to say to her like, how was your burger last night with your family?

I ordered a mint chip shake too, just because you did and your eyes almost rolled in the back of your head when you sucked from the straw with your strawberry red lips.

Or hey, what’s your plan for the rest of the year because I’m tired of pretending like I don’t see you around town and I want nothing more than to have you looking up at me while I kiss the fuck out of you for the first time .

That is not normal and something most girls would probably think is creepy.

Two years and I’ve been pining for this girl and doing all that I can to drive away any other guy who shows her even the smallest amount of attention.

Not that she knows this because, again, it’s borderline stalkerish behavior.

I can’t help it though. I want all of her attention, her focus, her every breath to revolve around me and I can’t even talk to her.

The frustrating part is that this only happens with Emmarys.

At school, with my group of friends, or at parties, I’ve never clammed up in front of a girl.

Call me arrogant or whatever, but I don’t ever have an issue talking with anyone.

A special little skillset I picked up from my momma who can talk to anyone about anything.

It’s easy for her with her natural southern charm and she passed that same charisma down to me.

Except for when it came to the girl of my dreams.

My brother doesn’t understand my hang up with Emmarys, even my best friend from home doesn’t get it.

I can’t explain it to them other than since the moment I saw her, gliding across the ice with hot pink laces in her skates, I knew she was meant to be mine.

It doesn’t matter that she goes to Crimson Bay Public and is supposed to be my mortal enemy.

A Pirate. I’ve never felt much like I belong at the private high school my grandfather insisted on sending me to anyway.

He promised my mother that attending All Saints Academy would make me look good to college scouts.

According to him, there are only two high schools that produce the top football players for colleges, where those players then go on to be drafted and play in the NFL.

The old man about had a heart attack when he couldn’t get me into the top school in my home state of Georgia.

So he convinced my mother that a move here to the Midwest would be the next best thing.

My momma, the ever-faithful widow, continues to follow the advice and wisdom of my paternal grandfather, whether I like it or not.

I realize I have talent that most players are envious of.

I know I don’t have to work as hard as other players to achieve good grades or to earn my position on the team since I am young.

And not to sound like a jackass, but I know I’m not lacking in the looks department.

Which is why my brother, who is just a year younger than me, can’t wrap his head around the fact that I am twisted up in knots over one girl and have been since we moved here two years ago.

Much like Riggs Griffin, my best friend in Georgia, he thinks that I should be enjoying the attention and the girls that come with the popularity I’ve gained at this school and in this town.

Helping them win two, back-to-back State Championships has made me well-known around town.

It also helps me float between groups of students who attend my high school and blend in enough to get into Pirate parties when I need to see my girl.

Because she is. Even though I haven’t talked to her yet, Emmarys was always meant to be mine. I can feel it.

Gritting my teeth, my hands fisting at my sides, I turn and walk back toward the ice. Coach is probably going to yell at me for being late, but I just don’t give a fuck. Things need to change. I can’t go another day without her knowing how much she affects me.

The ice gleams, a brand-new sheet that's ready to be played on. Despite the young group of kids getting ready on the benches, I make my way down the stairs, feeling their eyes on me, but I don’t take my focus off of Emmarys.

As if she senses me too, her head jerks up and the shovel in her hands stops mid scoop.

Our eyes meet and for the first time I’m up close enough to see her caramel color ones, with gold flecks glinting at me under the lights.

Her brow arches and I stop in my tracks.

My tongue runs over my bottom lip and I suddenly wish I had planned this out better.

If I don’t make my move now, we’ll never get anywhere.

Keeping my eyes pinned to hers, I finally speak.

“Wanna get dinner with me, sugar?”