16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
16
The crowd's roar still rings as I strip off my hockey gear. The weight of the protective pads falls away, but the heaviness of anticipation quickly takes place. I can still taste victory from tonight’s game with Boston, but I’d be lying if I said my thoughts are entirely on the win.
No, they are on Rory.
She's here in Boston to see me, and I can’t get my shit off quick enough.
“What’s the rush, friend?” I hear Cyrus muse as I pass him in a hurry. “You look like you’re late for something.”
“A date with your mom, asshole,” I bark back, leaving him behind in the locker room.
I shower quickly, impatiently almost, as if the hot water could wash away the time between now and when I'll see her.
Throwing on jeans and a button-down when I’m done, I barely look in the mirror to see what I look like before making my way out of the arena. The boys clap with shit about where I’m going and what hot date—other than Cyrus’s mom—I have, but I ignore them. The usual post-game exhaustion is nowhere to be found, replaced by a buzz that makes me feel like I could skate another three periods if it meant seeing her sooner.
The cool Boston evening air hits me as I exit the players' entrance, and there she is, waiting.
My heart doesn't just skip a beat; it slams into the boards with the force of a body check. Taking a deep breath, I prepare for the best part of my night—something better than any goal I've scored.
Her.
Our eyes meet, and that’s all the confirmation I need that she’s in this. That I’m not imagining this shit.
Her black leather jacket is the kind of classic piece you know she threw on without a second thought, but it works because she looks hot and badass. The black leggings are her go-to, easy to move in—and easy to take off—and a pair of tall black leather boots.
Her hair is doing its own thing, loose and free, maybe with a few strands playfully out of place from the breeze.
Her smile’s the real deal breaker, though—the kind that could probably get half the guys in Boston tripping over their feet to get to her.
But tonight, that smile is for me.
“You’re lookin’ good, baby,” I greet, soaking her in at a snail’s pace. “Are you my ride?”
“I’m not sure,” she replies with a wider quirk on her lips. “I was hopin’ you’d be mine, though.”
Fuck me.
My cock twitches in my pants, and I don’t stop walking until I have her sandwiched up against the side of the truck and I smell her sweet perfume of honey and something floral.
“I’ll be whatever you need,” I mutter, brushing my lips against hers, and it takes everything in me not to take them and devour her whole.
But just as I’m about to give in, there’s a raucous burst of laughter nearby.
I pull away slightly, my attention snapping to my side as the familiar voices of my teammates fill the air, their figures emerging from the shadows of the arena.
Figures.
“Wells,” I hear Graham say as the boys continue toward us. “Why are you still here?”
He knows why.
They’ve only been riding me about it for the whole week about seeing Rory like a bunch of horny, fifteen-year-old boys.
Hence my little jab at Cyrus tonight.
“Get lost, Sinclair,” I ground out, blocking Rory from their view.
And it’s not that I’m scared of what they’ll find, they know. It’s that they’ll give her a hard time.
“Let the girl breathe, Wells,” I hear Morgan order, his deep voice filling the air with all the broodiness in the world. “You’re suffocating her, and the last thing we need is a story about how you murdered someone from the other team.”
He’s never happy.
Even after a win, he’s not happy.
“Why don’t you go drown a bunch of puppies, Morgan,” I urge with a sigh. “Isn’t that what you do on Friday nights?”
“Kittens,” Morgan corrects me, leaning against the truck beside Rory. “So, this is the little Sellers we’ve been hearing about. You don’t look like your dad.”
Rory glances up at Morgan’s towering 6’5” frame without a shred of intimidation. “Thanks,” she replies dryly.
“What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like him?” he probes, tossing a sideways glance my way.
“Oh, you know, just extracting all your team's guarded strategies and innermost fears,” Rory retorts with a smirk.
Morgan doesn’t laugh—I suspect his face might crack if he tried—but the rest of the guys let out a roar of amusement.
“I’ve already told her that you’re scared of the color red,” I tack on. “You get fidgety.”
“I can already tell you’re a good fit,” Morgan says, his voice flat. “Two peas in a fucking pod.”
“Something like that,” she deadpans, her poker face perfect as she squares up against one of the NHL’s most badass enforcers.
“Well, now that we’ve all been charmingly introduced,” Cyrus states, sliding up to the other side of us. “How about we go hit some pins? Bowling night’s been on the books for weeks.” He looks at me, then twists a grin at Rory.
“You in? I'd love to see if your aim is as sharp as your tongue.”
“Bowling, huh?” Her eyes search mine, a silent question hanging between us.
“I promise it’s strictly amateur hour. The only thing we hit harder than pins is the snack bar.”
“We had other plans,” I answer for the both of us. “Maybe another time.”
“You can do that afterward, Judson,” he retorts, eyeing Rory as if she’s something he’s never seen before.
And, in a way, he hasn’t.
No one has ever had the balls to hang out with someone from the Montreal Blizzard, nor have we wanted to.
However, no Blizzard players or staff are as hot as Rory Sellers.
“Besides,” Cyrus continues. “Preston is concerned.”
My brow pinches. “What?”
“You talk about this girl, but we don’t know her,” Morgan states matter-of-factly. “We want to make sure she’s up to snuff before we allow—” I snap my neck to him, already tired of his bullshit and playing into this narrative.
“I don’t need your permission.”
He lifts a cocky brow at me. “Don’t you, though?”
No.
And my glare speaks for itself because never once have they given me shit for who I fuck or hang out with.
Of course, this is the first time they and I are involving our biggest rival.
“I don’t mind,” Rory cuts in before I can tell Morgan and everyone else to go fuck themselves. “Prepare to be bowled over by my exceptional ability to turn gutter balls into an art form."
Cyrus chuckles, and I don’t know what to think of this.
They will pepper her with questions and try to break her down. Get every little detail about what she’s trying to do here and how that will be for the team.
I feel sorry for them already.