Chapter 13 Scott
SCOTT
By Friday, I try to talk Holly into leaving Winston at home and coming to my scrimmage. We’re playing some college kids from Montana State, nothing I can’t handle. Friends and families are allowed to attend.
It’s the end of September, the real hockey season starts in a week, and she still hasn’t seen me play. She hesitates with all kinds of Winston excuses until I hand her my jersey, the one with my number bold on the back, my name on the top. Her eyes grow big and round when she sees it.
“Please come and watch me play. Do you want me on my knees begging? I will.” I gather the sweater, ready to put it over her head like it’s some kind of initiation ritual for hockey virgins.
“A little begging doesn’t hurt.” Her smile smolders. And because I am an idiot in the best possible way, I drop to one knee.
She laughs and pulls me back up. “I’m joking. You know I don’t know a thing about hockey. But if it means that much to you, then I’ll come.” She slips her arms and head through the jersey.
Damn. The way my colors sit on her curves, with that bright smile of hers, sends something hot and dangerous through me. She wraps her arms around my neck.
“Thanks. It means a lot to me you’ll be there.” I kiss the top of her head like she’s fragile and mine.
“Of course. The minute you asked, I wanted to come. I was just enjoying watching you sweat a little. Even the getting-on-your-knees bit.” She teases.
“Oh, so you like to tease, huh?” I pick her straight up and lock my mouth on hers, ignoring Winston’s hissing from his perch. When I finally pull back, I promise, low and smug, “One of us will be on their knees later tonight. I guarantee it.”
“You mean you won’t be too exhausted after the game and party?”
“Fuck no. Hockey players have stamina, sweetheart. Plenty of it. I’ll be going strong past midnight with you.” I grin. She moans, wrapping her legs around my middle, locking her ankles. “You’re getting hot now, and here I have to leave? No time for a quickie, baby.”
“Then just a kiss for luck,” she whispers, lashes heavy. I don’t need luck, but I take the kiss anyway.
I set her down and hesitate at the door because I can’t not say this. “By the way, you wearing my jersey sends a message to everyone that I’ve claimed you.”
“Do I want to be claimed?” She tilts her head, finger on her chin. It’s not even a valid question.
“You make me work for everything, don’t you?” I shake my head at her.
She chuckles and winks. “Hey hotshot, win tonight, and you can claim me.”
“Done. Be prepared for guaranteed claimage.” I blow her a kiss and walk out thinking about nothing but being a showboat for her on the ice.
Later during warmups, I search the stands until I spot her beside the penalty box, pressed to the glass, eyes wide. Seeing her there feels like a shot straight to the chest. When I get a chance, I stop in front of her and slap my glove on the glass.
“Hey, baby.” I grin like a lunatic. Never have I given another woman my jersey. Seeing her in it makes me feel like I own the night, like I’m king of the world.
Hunter slides up, putting his goalie glove on the glass next to mine. “She’s here to see me,” he chirps, trying to needle me.
I shove him, light and theatrical. Hunter’s the first friend I’ve made on the team; he’s a giant goofball and the kind of guy you want in the locker room.
“Get out of here. You got your own people to meet.” His siblings, Knox and Josie, are in the stands.
He’s already invited me to spend a few weeks of the off-season at the ranch Knox works at nearby.
I tap the glass with my glove until Holly puts her palm to it. Even with the barrier, I can feel electricity ping between us. She blows me a kiss, and I feel ten feet tall.
“Here to work or what?” Saint bellows as he and Coach glide by.
I wink and blow Holly a kiss back. “I’m here to kick ass.”
Coach grins as I fall in line with them. “Good. Let’s show these college kids what pro-level playing looks like.”
The team is pumped up for this. Of course, we won’t hurt the college kids. But we’ll make them work for every goal, if we even give them a chance to score.
Tonight, I’m on fire, like the puck is my bitch. First goal: a slap shot through the five-hole. Second, I strip their center, split his ankles with a deke and slip it past the goalie’s glove. The crowd roars, but what makes my blood buzz is Holly on her feet, whistling like she owns the place.
I earn a hat trick in the third when I corral the biscuit in a crowded crease and snap a wrist shot into the top corner.
The light flares, the horn blows, and my teammates pound me on the back—but all I care about is the way Holly blushes as I wink at her, pointing at her as I skate by, because that last goal was for her.
I like having a crowd, but I love playing to one special woman. Fuck. I could get used to this feeling.
Only problem? Does a guy like me get to keep a woman like her? I’ve always known she’s too good for me. For tonight… hell, I’m going to make her believe I’m worth it.
We win, of course. The locker room is a mess of sweat and laughter. Coach gives us a speech about remembering this feeling as we start our game schedule next week. I listen, but all I can think about is getting back to Holly.
She’s waiting by my truck when I come out. She runs, and I catch her with one hand like I’m showing off. My gear bag thumps to the ground as I spin her. Her lips are all over my face like she’s claiming me the way I claimed her with the jersey.
“That was fun. I can’t believe how fast the game is. No wonder you burn a gajillion calories,” she pants.
“And I could burn a few more. Want to go home instead of out?” I ask.
“You made me leave Winston at home, and you’re not even buying me a drink?” She winks, lethal. With that, I’ll do anything she wants.
So we hit the bar downtown with the guys. Holly lets me recount my goals with a creative flair like the hero I think I am, complete with Hunter chiming in with his goalie’s perspective. He earned a shutout, so he’s pretty stoked, too.
When the music kicks up, I pull Holly to the floor and she melts into me, swaying and whispering sexy things into my ear that make my mouth dry and my hands wander up and down her body. I almost take her into the bathroom for some satisfaction, but she’s not some random puck bunny.
She’s the woman I treat like a queen.
“It’s getting late. I wonder what Winston’s been up to,” she says as the night is winding down.
I couldn't care less. But she has had a few, while I made sure to have only one drink. I slide my keys into my fist. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
On the ride home, her one hand glues to my thigh, squeezing and kneading, brushing over my bulge. I fight off a hard-on, with all kinds of sexy thoughts in my head feeding the beast, until she screams for me to pull over. I make it in time, and she vomits into the grass like a champ.
Once we’re home, I carry her inside, set her on the bed, and tug her heels off. She’s half-asleep before I tuck the duvet up under her chin.
I flip on the bedside lamp. I press hair off her face, and kiss the temple like an idiot who’s already in too deep. “God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper and almost crawl in behind her to spoon.
I hit my room instead, kick off my shoes, brush my teeth. I backtrack through the house, lock the front door, and turn out the lights. When I return to her room and see her sleeping there, I figure screw it. I’m sleeping with her.
Only on the other side of her, I find Winston has sprawled himself out, molded to the small of her back like a lumpy, vindictive asshole.
My shoulders drop. “Winston, buddy. Think you could give me a break and let me watch over her tonight?”
He hisses and curls his claws in a slow menace. I don’t dare move him. The cat probably spent the evening sharpening his weapons. Instead, I tuck my tail between my legs and sulk back to my room.
So much for waking up with morning wood next to sweet Holly pussy. Instead, I lie awake thinking of a million ways to get back at a cat—and planning how to win.