Chapter 26 Easton
Easton
Never have I ever invited a female to watch me play hockey, let alone specifically to watch practice.
But here we are.
I skate in lazy circles, sneaking glances at Harper as she leans against the half wall at the home bench, eyes following me every now and then when she thinks I’m not looking.
Macy stands next to her, scrolling through her phone with an air of indifference, but Harper is the only one I care about.
Bundled up in a black winter coat, matching mittens, and a cute fuzzy hat that makes her look like she stepped out of a winter postcard, she’s the picture of cozy warmth against the chill of the rink.
She rests her mittens on the edge as she chats with her best friend, cheeks flushing from the cold—or maybe because she’s excited to be here?
Who knows.
All I know is that I want her undivided attention.
I want her here for a reason, though I haven’t completely figured out what that reason is.
Maybe it’s because when she looks at me, I feel a buzz under my skin that has my body running a little hotter despite the cold.
Is she noticing the way my shoulders flex when I turn?
Has she noticed the way my thighs burn with each deep push?
I steal a glance as I skate past—fast enough that she won’t catch me looking. She’s chatting with Macy, but her gaze flicks toward me for the briefest second. There it is again, that stupid heat low in my stomach, curling into my chest, making my heart pump harder than the skating does.
This isn’t normal.
She’s just a girl. Her locker has been next to mine forever.
She’s my friend.
I glide over, abruptly stopping so ice sprays in their direction. The flurry hits the plexiglass in a satisfying burst of white mist and ice chunks.
Harper flinches at the surprise, taking a step back, eyes narrowing suspiciously as a rueful grin tugs at her lips.
“Really?” I see her mouth, her hands rising into the air to punctuate her mock displeasure.
I shrug innocently as I skate back into position. She might look unmoved, but I catch the way her eyes follow me, lingering appreciatively as I peacock around like a dipshit.
She’s into it.
I can tell.
Grabbing a puck from the pile at center ice, I start handling it, showing off with a toe drag and a spin. Ta-da!
Look at me!
The puck sticks to my blade like glue as I weave through an invisible force field of defense. Quick left, quick right, back to the left, quick right.
Gotta be quick—gotta be quick to catch me.
Obviously, when I glance up, Harper is riveted, as if I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen, and swiftly—as I’ve done hundreds of times before—I take my shot, aiming glove side, high. The puck sails cleanly into the net with a thunk.
He shoots, he scores! The crowd goes wild!
My arms are above my head when I turn back toward the girls, coasting toward Harper’s side of the rink with my hands and stick held high above my head like I’ve just won the Stanley Cup. My skates cut smoothly across the ice, and I can’t help the satisfied grin stretching across my face.
“What’d you think of that?” I call out, my breath leaving my lips in a puff of fog as I come to a full stop in front of her. “Pretty good, eh?”
She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “You had no one defending the goal.”
“That’s not the point,” I counter, tapping my stick against the boards for emphasis. “The point is my sweet skills.”
“Fine.” She drags the word out reluctantly. “You’re pretty good—show-off.”
I press a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me, skating backward past her and Macy, who continues actively ignoring me.
“You think this is me showing off?”
“What else are we calling it?” Harper teases, leaning a little farther over the wall, tempting me to skate over and kiss her. Why did I just think that?
“Effortless talent.” I wink.
Macy’s dramatic groan carries as she taps away at her phone without looking up. “Please don’t feed his ego. It’s already out of control.”
Out of control? Me? Considering how fucking talented I am, I’m the most modest dude I know, and that’s the truth.
“My ego is fine, thankyouverymuch,” I reply, slowing my stride. Stop to glide backward. “Stick around. You might learn something.”
I like that Harper is here.
I love that she’s watching me.
She saw me skate the last time she came here, obviously. But now I’m not surrounded by teammates. There’s no whistle, no shouting, no coaches.
Just me.
With a smooth, powerful motion, I load my stick, bringing it back as far as it’ll go before swinging forward with maximum force.
The blade connects with the puck with a satisfying crack, and it rockets across the ice, a blur of black slicing through the air.
It slams into the back of the net with such intensity that the entire goal shakes, the sound echoing through the empty rink like a gunshot.
Yes!
When I glance back at her (to make sure she’s watching), her brows are raised, her lips parted in genuine delight.
“Okay,” she calls. “That was kind of cool.”
“Kind of cool?” I skate back over to the bench, stopping short of the wall. “I think you meant unbelievable.”
“Don’t push it, Westermann,” she fires back—but the way her eyes sparkle makes it clear she’s enjoying being here as much as I’m enjoying having her watch.
I lean lazily against my stick.
“You know,” I say, my smile widening. “If you’re lucky, I might even let you try next time.”
Harper rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Oh, I’d totally embarrass you out here.”
Bold words, considering they’re probably not true. Does she even skate? It’s cute, though, that she’s boastful about it—like she thinks she could hold her own out here.
“Have you ever held a hockey stick?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, the playful edge to her voice making my heart beat faster.
“She’s never held any kind of stick,” Macy snorts, tugging on Harper’s arm like she’s trying to physically drag her away. “Can we leave before this flirting turns into foreplay? It’s freezing.”
Foreplay?
“Flirting?” I echo, arching a brow at the accusation. The word hangs there for a moment, the air thick with tension. “Harper and I decided that’s something we’re not good at.”
Her lips part to argue.
The pause stretches long enough to make me fidget. Needing to avoid this conversation—and Harper’s intense gaze—I grab another puck from the ledge, drop it on the ice, and skate off toward center, putting a little extra speed into my stride.
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about flirting—we’re talking about hockey and how maybe you’re not as good as you think you are!” she shouts at my back.
I feel a grin tugging at my lips but don’t turn around. Instead, I line up another shot, focusing on the puck in front of me. Or I try to.
Because the problem is, I can’t stop picturing the way her lips purse when she’s teasing me, glossy and distracting. I can’t stop thinking about how I want to kiss her again later.
I need to focus. Hockey.
Shots.
Not Harper.
Net.
“Oh, I’m as good as I think I am,” I call back, my tone cocky as I line up the puck and spin it around on the blade of my stick, letting the motion feel easy, effortless. “In fact, I’m better.”
I hear her laugh behind me, light and airy, and the nerves in my body do the stupidest shit.
Macy, however, is less than impressed.
Her groan carries across the ice, loud and clear, as she throws her hands up. “I can’t take it anymore. Can we please go? My toes are literally frozen.”
“In a minute,” Harper replies, not sparing her bestie a glance. Her eyes stay locked on me. “I think Easton has a little more showing off to do.”
“Damn right I do,” I mutter, grabbing two pucks and pushing off with purpose.
If Harper wants a show, I’m more than happy to give her one.
“Well, do I have to be here to see it?” Macy noisily complains, stomping her feet like a petulant child. She presses her fingers to her jawline. “My face is freezing off.”
“It’s fifty-five degrees in here,” I yell. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, you are,” she snaps, wrapping her arms tighter around herself in a hug. “It’s called having thin blood.”
“Yeah,” Harper adds. “Not all of us can look hot while skating in frigid temperatures like show ponies.”
Wait. She thinks I’m hot?
I push my tongue against the inside of my cheek, fighting the idiotic smile threatening to form. Play it cool. Don’t make it weird. But my body betrays me, heat creeping up my neck.
Jeez, am I blushing?
Is this what it feels like when Harper Conrad has a crush on you?
The light bulb goes on in my head the same way the alarms sound when someone scores a goal.
“Show pony?” I grin at her like a doofus. “I think you mean stallion.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that if it’ll get me out of here,” Macy says, rolling her eyes.
With both pucks in play, I weave them effortlessly between my skates, pulling off a spin before shooting the first one into the top left corner of the net. Bam!
The second puck follows immediately, zipping low into the bottom right.
Bam, bam!
I glance back at the bench, half expecting more sarcastic rhetoric, but Harper’s eyes are wide.
“Did that do it for you?” I call out, skating toward them. The pull I feel toward Harper gets stronger the more time I spend with her, and I love showing off for her.
Yes, I’m showing off.
Yes, I want to impress her.
Yes, I want her to think I’m—
“It was…all right. I’ll give you that.” She’s doing her best to look unaffected, but the pink flush creeping up her neck gives her away.
“That was poetry in motion, baby.”
Baby.
The word causes her eyes to widen, but Macy?
She is not having it.
“Poetry doesn’t make me lose feeling in my face,” Macy snaps, her voice muffled by her scarf as she rubs her hands together furiously. “Seriously. I’m going to die of frostbite if I have to stand here one more second.”
“It’s not cold in here!” I laugh, gesturing at the rink. Seriously—they keep the temperature between fifty-five and sixty degrees.
“Maybe you don’t think it’s cold,” Macy grumbles. “This is your second home. Meanwhile, I’m turning into a Popsicle.”
“A cute Popsicle.” Harper stifles a laugh, biting her lip to hide her amusement.
Macy throws her hands up. “Great! Good to know I look adorable while freezing to death. That totally makes me feel less cold.”
Harper laughs, which adds fuel to her friend’s fire.
“You know what, Harper?” Macy has had enough. “Stay here and freeze with your dumb hockey hottie.” She stomps toward the exit, her boots squeaking against the damp rubber floor. “Text me when you’re done with your Disney on Ice moment!”
Her voice echoes through the rink as the heavy doors slam behind her.
Harper snorts, shaking her head as she watches Macy’s exit. “We really know how to clear a room, don’t we?”
“Not my fault Macy has the cold tolerance of a cactus,” I reply, shrugging. “Now it’s just you and me.”
“Lucky me,” she whispers.
I skate to the boards where she’s leaning, planting my elbows on the half wall and tilting my head as I study her. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, it’s like the air between us shifts—quieter, warmer, charged with something unspoken.
“You talk a big game, you know,” I say, my voice low, unmistakably teasing.
Flirty, even.
She crosses her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” I inch closer. “You’ve got a lot to say about hockey for someone who’s never been on the ice.”
“When did I say I’ve never been on the ice? I said I’ve never handled a stick.” Her expression doesn’t falter and her lips twitch. “Are you calling me out?”
Yes.
Obviously.
I straighten and lift my stick behind me, resting it across my shoulders. “What are ya gonna do about it?”
Her eyes narrow, her lips twitching again like she’s trying not to smile. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” I say, curling my elbows over the stick as I smile at her. “What’s the worst that could happen? You fall, I laugh, I help you get back up.”
“I don’t have skates.” Her chin has notched up.
“They have them up front,” I counter smoothly, gesturing toward the rental desk at the far end of the rink. “Pick your size, lace them up, let’s go.”
She presses her lips together, like she’s weighing her options. Then her gaze flicks to the ice and back to me, and I swear I see the faintest hint of nerves flash across her face.
“Fine.”