Chapter 5
Kai
LA is bringing the heat tonight. The Guardians must have taken personal offense to breathing the same air as us, because these fuckers are going out of their way to piss me off.
One more wrong move and I’m throwing my fucking gloves.
Hell, I’m itching for it. A good fight always knocks the static out of my brain.
I squeeze water into my mouth and then jump over the board. As soon as my blades hit the ice, I'm off like a missile. I know I’m about to earn myself a penalty, but honestly? It’s worth it. LA’s too comfortable, and I don’t like anyone getting comfortable unless I’m inside them.
I scan the ice. Moretti has the puck and is weaving through defense like he was born to make grown ass men cry. The crowd is roaring around me, the ground rumbles under me, and my blood feels fucking electric.
“AY! I'm open!” I bark at Luca.
This man is our honorary brother and permanent third wheel.
Mikey and I are a package deal, but Luca comes with us, too.
We have been playing hockey together since we were six and have made sure to be on every team together growing up.
We share a brain cell when we’re on the ice, there is no doubt about it.
We told each other we would be in the NHL together, and here we are.
Luca taps the puck toward me, but dumb nuts, Harrison- number 5 for the Gladiators and one of their best defensemen- gets it from me.
Motherfucker.
Now, my blood is racing, and I am pushing my legs as fast as they will go to get the puck back.
I’m seconds away from getting it when Protve- The six-foot-seven Russian giant– slams me into the boards so hard the plexiglass screams in protest. This man is a fucking tank.
I feel my ribs strain against the glass.
I grit my teeth and turn, ready to elbow this fucking tank of a man right in the mouth. Then something catches my eye.
A flash of movement, then I see a set of warm honey-brown eyes.
I blink again, and there she still is, sitting in the front row. Curls down her back. Wearing a Vortex hoodie two sizes too big, with the sleeves covering her hands. She has black jeans hugging her thighs, and her mouth is slightly open in shock.
HOLY. FUCK.
She’s fucking beautiful.
Not cute or hot or even sexy.
She is fucking beautiful.
She is the kind of girl you dream about, but never expect to see outside of your delusions. And here she is looking at me like she felt the hit I just took.
She genuinely looks worried… for me… The guy who literally fights people for a living.
Then something brutal and primal twists low in my stomach, and one word flashes in my head.
MINE.
The word hits me so fast, I almost miss it. I shake my head. What the fuck, Monroe? Get your head in the damn game.
I wink at her, because why not, and push off the board. I force myself back into the play before I skate over to her again like a fucking lunatic.
But shit… I already feel like one. I can't get her out of my head. Even while chasing the puck back into neutral ice. I’m still thinking about her.
Those big golden eyes, the slight pink in her cheeks.
Her lips wrapped around the end of her beer bottle…
And oh, how those lips would look wrapped around my cock.
Fuck.
Focus.
We finish out the shift, and I hustle to the bench and rip off my gloves.
I spot Daniel, one of our physical trainers, and stomp towards him.
“Hey,” I snap, grabbing his sleeve. “A girl. Brown curls. Black pants. Vortex hoodie. Golden brown eyes. Font row. Sitting with a blonde. You see her?”
Daniel blinks at me like I just asked him to solve world hunger. “Okay…? And?”
“Make sure she doesn’t leave after the game.”
He sputters, “Do I look like your bitch boy, Monroe?”
“You do now.” I tighten my grip on him. “And if you don’t?
I’ll tell every player in the locker room about your little underwear drawer secret.
” I don’t actually know the details of the secret, but I overheard some of the guys in the locker room talking about it one day.
I know if I needed to, I could get all of the juicy details from them.
His eyes bug out of his face, and he runs off to find security like his life depends on it. And if I’m being honest, it might.
I drop onto the bench, my chest heaving, not from exertion, but from something dangerously close to… anticipation.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t even know the girl's name, and I’m already plotting ways to keep her in this arena. I shouldn’t care this much. Fuck I never care this much. I didn't care this much when I scored my first fucking NHL hat trick.
But that girl…. That girl has something in her eyes. Something soft. Something that makes me want to snap necks and offer her my jersey in the same breath.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my glove and lean forward, watching the play unfold on the ice, but my mind is nowhere near it.
The only thought on my mind is I need to see her again… NO scratch that. I will see her again.
And god help whatever stands in the way of that, because once I want something… Once a Monroe wants something… we don't let go… EVER.