Chapter Eight
Millie
Ipull my mom’s small SUV into the parking space and put it into park. There aren’t a ton of cars here yet, but I left a little early to make sure I got here on time. After the whole date, not a date debacle, we decided I would meet him here at six.
I look over to the dash and note that I have five minutes before we are supposed to meet by the ticket booths at the entrance to the arena to watch a hockey game. I thought we were ice skating but I find I'm not mad at the change of plans. Maybe I'll like hockey.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. This shouldn’t be a big deal, it’s just two friends going to see a hockey game together, but it feels like so much more than that.
This is technically the first time I’ve ever gone out with a guy, and even though this isn’t classified as a date, I still haven’t gone out with just a friend that happens to be a dude.
I blow out my breath, trying to settle my nerves, but when it doesn’t work, I go to the one thing that does manage to calm me when I feel unsure.
My finger instantly finds the spot. I can feel the steady rhythm of my pulse beneath my skin.
Thump, thump, thump. I let the sensation soothe my frayed nervous system.
One second turns into four and then ten, and before long, the anxiety that was starting to claw its way up my throat steadily retreats.
I can do this. He’s just a guy, albeit a really hot one. He’s still just a regular human being, just like the rest of us. He bleeds the same color, breathes the same air.
Don’t be weird about this, Millie. Think about him pooping!
Ha! I giggle to myself at the intrusive thought, but it’s just enough to pull me out of my own head and remind me that he is indeed just a boy—one that probably farts and burps in public and most definitely poops!
The thought is exactly what I needed in order to get out of this car and walk toward the entrance of the big stadium. This isn’t Hart U’s stadium, where I know Rowan plays. It’s another one, where apparently their mascot is an overly dramatized polar bear that’s about as intimidating as a sloth.
The giant polar bear is plastered above the doors that lead into the arena, its claws out in an aggressive manner and its teeth bared for all to see. The thing looks more like a cartoon, which kind of ruins the whole hear me roar image they were going for.
“You ready for this, Daredevil?” The deep tenor of his voice has an addicting warmth spreading through my core.
I look down from the way-too-animated polar bear to find his bright green eyes watching me. “I’m always ready.”
His smile does something to me. It makes all those funny sensations that seemed to have woken up the moment he spoke come more alive. It feels like he set a live wire off in my body.
Tantalizing is the word I would use to describe Rowan Pierce standing in front of me in worn jeans that hang perfectly on his defined hips. I practically drool as my gaze continues to soak him in. The hockey jersey he has on is most certainly his.
I find I very much like the thought of seeing him in his element.
My core clenches at the image that pops into my head of Rowan on the hockey rink—his powerful legs propelling him across the ice at precision speed, his muscles coiled for the fight ahead.
I would like to see him in action one day; I bet it’s a freaking sight to behold.
“I have a feeling you’re going to fall in love with hockey,” he says as he motions me forward. We both start walking toward the entrance, and the closer we get, the more I realize he may be right.
Excitement starts to weave its way through my body, and as soon as he opens the door in front of me, I feel it spread through my chest. The smells, the buzz of people, the lights, the food. All of it. So freaking cool.
“Wait until you see the ice.” He grabs my hand and starts pulling me forward. I try to ignore the warmth that explodes in my chest and core the moment his hand touches mine, but it’s nearly impossible.
He wastes no time leading us over to the ice, and as soon as it comes into view, I’m pretty sure a whispered wow breaks free.
There is a swarm of skaters on the ice, all of them warming up, I assume. The sounds of their skates slicing through the ice is sort of calming, and every few seconds, you hear the thud of the puck hitting the boundary surrounding the ice.
He laughs, and my head turns toward him. “What are you laughing at?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so excited.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
I tilt my head as I continue to look at him. “What do you mean?”
He smiles at me, then turns to look out at the ice. “I guess I’ve forgotten what it feels like to see this and get excited over it.”
“You aren’t excited when you play?” I ask, completely perplexed. I thought he loved hockey. How can you love something but not be excited about it?
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before he releases it and shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s complicated and stupid, but no, not really.” He shakes his head in disbelief before saying, “I haven’t said that out loud to anyone.”
I don’t like the despondent look on his face or the way his shoulders have dropped in what looks like defeat.
I lean into his side, playfully throwing my shoulder into his, but I’m not nearly as tall as him, so I’m basically shoving myself onto his elbow. “Sounds like you need to be reminded of all the reasons you fell in love with it in the first place.”
“Maybe it lost its magic,” he volleys back.
I snicker, “Doubt it. Look at it! How could this not be cool anymore?” I wave my hand out before me, still in awe of it all.
“They haven’t even started playing yet. How do you know you’re going to love it?”
I smile up at him, pure joy radiating from my soul. “I can just feel it.”
He laughs then and once again grabs my hand. Butterflies swarm and my core warms despite the chill in the air. I really, really like it when he holds my hand. “Okay, Daredevil, let’s see what kind of fan you’re going to be.”
“There are different kinds?” I ask as he guides me around the arena.
He only lets go when we reach the stairs. He goes down before me, speaking over his shoulder to answer my question. “Most definitely. I think I know, but you may surprise me. It wouldn’t be the first time.” The wink he gives me has my stomach flipping over in giddy somersaults.
“Which kind do you think I’m going to be?”
His smirk draws me in. “Where’s the fun in telling you?”
“How am I supposed to know if you guessed right? You could change your mind at the last minute!”
“You calling me a cheat, Daredevil?” His smirk only grows, so I know he’s not offended in the least.
“I’ve heard hockey players can play dirty.”
He stops and turns around, the sudden change has me stumbling to a stop.
My chest collides with his. My gaze slowly trails up, catching on every hard plane of this man’s chest. When I finally reach his face, that signature smirk turns into something much more dangerous—a real smile.
The gesture almost has my panties combusting from the heat radiating from my core.
So very freaking dangerous.
“That’s the best part.”
“You like getting into fights?”
He shrugs and turns around to continue heading down the stairs. “The fights are just a small part of the game. What I love is how strategic the game is. It’s a constant battle of wills. It’s the perfect balance between complete physical exertion and mental agility.”
“Which leaves plenty of room to play dirty.”
“Exactly! A discreet jab here, or a play they won’t see coming, is just part of the game. That’s not exclusive to hockey either. It’s the most addictive thing about the game, though.”
He looks back toward me once more before he takes a seat that’s so close to the glass divider that I could lean forward, and my nose would be touching it. In a gesture that catches me off guard but warms my heart, he reaches over and pushes the folded seat down for me.
“What’s the second most addictive?” I ask, once I’m seated.
His mouth closes as he stares at the ice for what feels like more than a minute but is probably just a few seconds. He seems lost in his own thoughts, maybe memories. I don’t know, but whatever it is has his shoulders tensing. “Probably the guys, the bonds you form with your teammates.”
“Is it hard being the captain?”
He blows out a quick breath. “It didn’t used to be, but it feels more and more stifling now. Sometimes I think about quitting.” He turns toward me, his green eyes—a perfect shade of jade—widen in disbelief. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
“That you want to quit?”
“Yeah.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I reach over and place my hand over his, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.
Maybe it’s the fact that he held my hand to guide us to our seats, or the fact that I don’t like the solemn expression on his face.
Whatever it is, the contact seems to help soothe whatever turmoil he’s experiencing right now.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
His gaze catches mine, and it feels like my entire body is coming to life. My toes tingle, my fingertips itch to touch him, and an entire swarm of butterflies takes flight in my belly. His intense green eyes seem to study me. It feels like he’s trying to decide if I’m worthy of his secrets.
“Why do I want to tell you all my secrets, Daredevil?” He seems truly conflicted, like part of him wants to bare his soul and the other wants to run far away from here without ever telling anything he holds close.
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling if you asked for mine, I would tell you every single one,” I answer back, barely above a whisper.
One eyebrow raises, and it feels like he leans even closer to me. “Do you want me to ask what your secrets are?”
A low, shallow breath leaves me. He’s so close I’m positive he must have felt the little puff of air across his cheek. “Not today, but ask me again tomorrow.”
He smiles, and his eyes quickly dart down to my lips. My eyes get stuck there, watching him watch me. When his tongue comes out and licks his bottom lip, I’m pretty sure I completely soak my panties through.
I’ve never wanted someone to kiss me so much in my entire life.
My body is practically salivating over the image that pops into my brain.
All he would have to do is lean forward a few more inches.
His lips would skate over mine. I would reach up and grab the strands of brown hair that graze the nape of his neck to pull him even closer.
The tantalizing fantasy pops just like a bubble the moment Rowan leans back and turns to look out toward the ice.
I hear what sounds like a bullhorn, then I feel a playful jab to my side.
“It’s starting.”
And just like that, I get sucked into one of the most fascinating games I’ve ever watched. My hockey game cherry is officially popped.