The door clicks shut behind Marina, and I'm left standing there with Harmony's eyes locked on me. Without missing a beat, I stride over to the gift bag I had delivered earlier today and hand it to her. She peaks inside and then pulls out the black and red jersey.
"Would you like to come to my game tonight and wear that?" I say, nudging my chin towards the jersey now draped over her arms. "It's like a good luck charm, you know?"
She unfolds it, the number twelve is large on the back along with Miles embossed at the top, and I admire her holding it. The way she looks at it makes my chest tighten.
"Oh my God! I’d love to go. Thank you!" she exclaims as she bounces on her toes.
"Uh, I was thinking you could sit with the other players' girlfriends at the game. They're a riot; you'll fit right in." I flash her my best winning smile.
"Girlfriends, huh?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Yep, they've got their own VIP squad in their box seats going on. You won't miss a thing from up there." I lean back against the couch, trying to seem as casual as possible while my pulse kicks up a notch.
"Okay, count me in," she says, and slips the jersey over her head.
"Fucking hell, you look so damn good in that jersey.” I shake my head, knowing that I don’t have any time to take her back to my bed and fuck her with my jersey on. “So, I'll catch you after the game then," I say, leaning in close. My lips brush hers, lingering just long enough to make a promise without words. Her mouth curves into a smile against mine, and that's all the confirmation I need.
Pulling away with a wink, I grab my gear and head towards the rink, leaving Harmony standing there in my jersey. It swallows her slender frame. The number on the back is mine, and now, so is she – at least for tonight.
***
The pre-game chaos is a blur of motion and adrenaline, but through the noise, my mind keeps replaying that kiss, brief as it was. It's a spark that's got me burning from the inside out.
As I take a lap, I scan the VIP boxes at the top of the stands, searching for that cluster of women, each in their man’s jersey. Found her.
Miss Green Eyes.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and it's just me and Harmony, with her practical ponytail and those eyes that see right through my bullshit.
She's not cheering or waving frantically like the others. Instead, there's this small, knowing smile playing on her lips, as if she's privy to a secret that no one else in the arena has caught onto yet. She’s right. I'm not just playing for the win; I'm playing for her.
I tap my stick against the ice, and with one last glance at Harmony, I turn my focus to the game. Although, her wearing my name on her back and looking at me like I'm more than just a guy on skates, lights a fire in me.
The game is ready to start. I'm at the faceoff circle, stick in hand, eyes locked on the puck. The ref's arm drops, and everything else fades into the periphery.
The puck skitters across the ice, and we're off. Blades carve into the frozen surface with every turn. Asher sweeps the puck from their center, and Kaleb is already bolting down the rink.
I'm right behind him, cutting through defenders like they're nothing. The cold air burns my lungs as I suck in breaths to keep my legs pumping.
"Lucky!" Ryder's voice cuts through the crowd noise, and I pivot just as Kaleb sends a pass towards me. There's that split second when time hiccups, when the puck glides toward my stick, and I know this is it.
I lean into the shot, the stick flexing under the tension before it releases energy into the rubber disk. It's a slapshot straight out of the textbook, and the goalie barely has time to blink before the puck slams into the back of the net. Goal lights flash, and the siren wails.
"HELL YES!" I throw my head back, arms raised in triumph as my teammates swarm me with pats on the helmet and shoulder bumps. The crowd erupts louder, if that's even possible. I tilt my head up to find her—Harmony.
She's standing now, clapping, that small, knowing smile still there. Scoring feels good, hell, it feels great—but Harmony watching me do it? That's a whole new level of pride.
"Nice shot, Lucky!" Asher shouts, grinning like a maniac.
"Damn straight, ladies love a scorer," I shoot back, but my gaze drifts back up to the stands, to Harmony. Yeah, they might love a scorer, but I'm starting to think I'm playing for an audience of one.
The adrenaline from the first goal still pumps through my veins as I glide across the ice. Every so often, my gaze flicks up to the box seat where Harmony's chatting with the other WAGs—wives and girlfriends of my teammates. She‘s laughing. Something warm and unfamiliar bubbles in my chest again. I’m starting to like these strange feelings.
"Keep your head in the game, Dakota!" Coach yells from the bench, and I snap my focus back to the puck.
When the final buzzer sounds, sealing our victory. My teammates are slapping my back, but I'm already scanning the stands. There's a cluster around Harmony now, and even from this distance, I can see she looks happy. The guys' girls are all smiles, clearly taken with Miss Green Eyes. I knew she'd fit in.
"Your girl up there, she seemed to enjoy the show," Asher claps me on the shoulder as we make our way to the locker room.
"Harmony's not my—" I start to correct him but then hesitate. What is she exactly? We're... something. Whatever that something is, it has me grinning like an idiot.
"Sure, pal," Asher chuckles, not buying my hesitation for a second. "Just wait 'til you see how much more fun winning is when you're celebrating with someone special."
I roll my eyes, but I know he's right.
My shower to clean up is quick, and soon I’m striding through the corridor in search of Harmony, my heart hammering like I've just played double overtime.
"Miss Green Eyes!" I call out as soon as I see her.
She turns, those eyes lighting up. I close the distance between us in a few long strides, not caring about the line of puck bunnies eyeing me like I'm the last chocolate in the box.
Without warning, I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. Her lips part in surprise as I lean down and seal them with mine. The kiss is deep, possessive, and all-consuming—a public declaration that leaves no room for doubt.
I'm vaguely aware of whispers and gasps from the onlookers, but they fade to nothing. It's Harmony's response that matters, the way she melts into me, her fingers tangling in the back of my hair.
Pulling away, I press my forehead to hers, grinning like a damn fool. "Looks like you're officially off the market, too," I murmur, loud enough for anyone lurking close by.