5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
~JESSICA~
The arena is alive. A massive, roaring, vibrating beast of steel, concrete, and human adrenaline, and I already feel overwhelmed.
Lights spin over the ice like searchlights; music pulses through the walls, and fans scream all around me. Someone hands out thundersticks behind me, and the clapping booms like gunfire.
This is… a lot. It’s my first time ever attending an NHL game.
Tinnie tried escorting me upstairs to the VIP suites with floor-to-ceiling glass, catered food, plush chairs, and giant screens. Basically, a luxury prison where you can’t hear anything. You’re above it all. Detached. I took one look through that tinted window and said, “Absolutely not.”
And that’s how I ended up here instead, standing right against the glass, rinkside, next to a dad trying to hold three hot dogs while yelling at someone named Lucas to “stop hitting strangers.”
The lights drop, and a spotlight cuts across the ice, bright enough to blind half the arena. The announcer’s voice blasts through the speakers, vibrating in my chest:
“MIAMI! ARE YOU READY FOR HOCKEY?”
The crowd detonates and so do my eardrums.
The team gets called out one by one, skating through the tunnel and exploding onto the ice like missiles.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, wearing the C for your Miami Blazers… Dominic Moreal!”
The stadium erupts; the seat under me shakes. Dominic skates out with a fluid, confident stride. His visor hides most of his face except for the cut of his cheekbone. He looks around and acknowledges the arena with a few nods .
My lungs stop functioning for a full second before I remember to breathe.
I haven’t seen him in a week, and these few seconds of watching him skate remind me why I picked him at the club. He looks powerful—not in an arrogant way. His power is quiet; his entire self silently demands attention and respect.
Watching him glide across the ice makes the memory of my lips on his jaw burn hotter in my nerves. My stomach flips.
God. That jaw.
I can still feel his stubble. My lips tingled for hours after that stupid kiss I barely meant to give. Well… I meant it. But I didn’t mean it.
I glance around, paranoid, making sure no one can hear my brain screaming at itself.
I still haven’t gotten an answer. He never responded to my conditions, which, truthfully? If someone demanded to move into my home, I wouldn’t either.
I hated writing that one down. I close my eyes and cringe into myself.
He probably thinks I’m insane. Or worse, a gold digger with no shame and a Pinterest board full of mansions and supercars. I didn’t write that so I could lounge around in his giant house eating grapes while he trains.
I wrote it because… I have my reasons. Reasons that feel way too humiliating to admit to him.
But what’s more humiliating? Dominic Moreal thinking I’m a gold digger, or admitting that my family has financial problems and the money I’d be saving on rent would go straight to them?
I wrap my arms around myself and stare at him again. Dominic skates to the circle in the middle. His shoulders roll under the thick padding, and the crowd surges louder each time he moves. Chants, whistles, screaming women, barking men, little kids banging the glass with tiny fists.
He doesn’t react to any of it anymore. He’s laser-focused. He looks untouchable and untamed.
My stomach tightens painfully.
“LET’S GO BLAZERS!” the dad beside me shrieks.
I exhale slowly, letting the cold air burn my throat as the announcer yells about starting lineups. The arena goes dark again for the national anthem. People rise to their feet, hands over hearts, spotlights swirling.
Someone drops into the empty seat beside me with the kind of energy that announces itself before the person does.
A swirl of wild, dark curls and a flash of emerald fabric.
“Jessica! Finally.” The girl flashes a bright, excited smile.
My brain stutters, and I blink sideways.
“Uh…” I glance behind me to make sure she’s talking to me. “Hi?”
She exhales dramatically, waving a hand.
“Getting to you was harder than I thought.” She sticks out her hand, grin widening. “I’m Melody. We met briefly the other day.”
“Jessica.” I take her hand automatically.
“I know,” she laughs. “Tinnie just shoved me down the stairs telling me to sit with you. Something about this being your first game, and how we WAGs have to support each other.”
“I’m sorry, the what?” I’m so lost .
“WAG,” she repeats, like it’s normal. “Wives and girlfriends.”
Oh.
“I know, I know,” Melody waves her hand, rolling her eyes. “When I first heard it I made that exact same face too.”
“It sounds like a bad sorority name.”
She snorts and scoots closer to me.
“Okay.” Melody flips her curls over one shoulder and points toward the ice. “Let me give you the tour. You met the guys already, right?”
“Met? Sure.” I grimace. “Remember? Not at all.”
“Okay, starting easy.” She leans so I can hear her over the noise. “Number twenty-seven,” she points at a player smacking his stick against the boards, “that’s Matt. The one next to him is Tanner.”
I don’t know why we’re doing this when I can’t see anyone’s face under the helmets, but I don’t want to snuff out her enthusiasm.
“And that’s Addams.”
Then her finger shifts and pauses. “And that,” she says slowly, “is the goalie. Zed. ”
My eyes follow her hand to a player near the crease. He’s massive. Tattoos snake up his thick neck, and under the visor are eyes so light they almost match the ice.
I don’t remember seeing him.
“I didn’t see him at the gala?” I shout.
“Oh, Zed doesn’t do events often,” Melody says. “Or crowds. Or… anything, really.”
“He looks scary.”
“Yeah. Sweet guy, though.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Like a homicidal cinnamon roll. It’s complicated.”
Before I can unpack that, she points again.
“And that,” she says, chin tilting toward a man skating backward while laughing at a teammate, “is Jace.”
Tall, cocky, and a little too charming-looking.
“Oh,” I say, “yeah, he was at the table.”
“He’s the reason I’m part of the sorority.” Melody glances at me with a laugh.
“He’s your boyfriend?”
Her head bobs as she nods with a huge smile. She leans her shoulder into mine, eyes flicking toward the ice again .
“And right there,” her voice drops into a knowing, teasing hum, “is your captain.”
“He’s not my captain.” My pulse skitters. “He’s my…” I try to force the word out.
“Boyfriend.” Melody finishes for me with a playful smile.
Before I can answer, the opening faceoff whistle screeches through the arena, and the crowd explodes again.
Melody leans forward, clutching the railing.
“Ready for chaos?” she asks, grinning.
I exhale, eyes snapping to Dominic just in time to see him lower into position.
The puck drops, and the arena detonates. The players explode off the line, sticks slamming, blades slicing ice, bodies colliding. The noise is a physical thing, pounding into my ribs and vibrating through my teeth.
I brace my palms on the railing, breath caught halfway up my throat as my eyes follow Dom.
Dom moves differently than everyone else. He cuts across the ice with total confidence. Every stride is controlled, every movement clean and sure. Not a second wasted, not an inch out of place.
“Wow,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
I can’t look away.
He snatches a loose puck and starts up the boards. A player tries to body him, but Dom barely shifts. He absorbs the hit and keeps going, accelerating.
My jaw literally drops.
“Get it, Dom!” Melody shouts over the crowd, then turns to me. “He’s a machine.”
Yeah. A very, very hot machine.
Watching videos of him online did not prepare me for this. The camera doesn’t capture how he moves, how explosive he is, how beautiful hockey is when he plays it, how the entire arena seems to react to him.
I feel my face heating.
Dom suddenly snaps a shot from the blue line, fast and lethal, and the other team’s goalie doesn’t react quickly enough. Something loud blasts into my ears, and people around me jump up and cheer, including Melody .
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. But it’s not because of the game. It’s because of my wayward thoughts.
If Dom moves like that in bed…
No, stop.
I’m admiring the sport. The athleticism.
Yet heat coils low in my stomach, remembering how he towered over me on the ice, picked me up, and carried me off. And according to his own words, this was him being ‘nice.’
And to think I even attempted to skate in front of him when he moves like that.
God, he probably got the ick.
The play stops for a whistle. Melody leans closer, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“What do you think? First-game vibes?”
“He’s… I mean, they’re…” I can’t finish. I’m too busy watching Dom skate back to the bench like a very annoyed Greek god.
“I get it. It’s a lot.” Melody cackles.
Trying to be casual, I keep my eyes glued to the ice.
“Do you, um… know th e guys well?”
“Pretty well,” she shrugs. “If you’re asking about Dom, you might have noticed he’s…
” She starts ticking her fingers. “…controlling, has to do everything himself, gets really cranky when things don’t go his way, and he’s secretly a huge softie even though he’d rather eat his own jersey than admit it. ”
A huge softie? Huge checks out.
Softie? I’m not sure we’re talking about the same man.
“Wow,” I say softly. “Sounds like you know him well.”
“He’s my older brother.” Melody smiles at the ice proudly.
I blink at her. Blink at the ice. Blink back at her.
Dom’s sister.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Are you serious?”
“Surprise.” She laughs.
The lines switch. The first unit hops the boards, and the second line circles back toward the bench.
Melody nudges me with her elbow. Before I can ask what she means, Jace skates past our section, slowing just enough to look up through the glass .
Grinning, he taps his stick on the boards twice and blows Melody a kiss.