Chapter 16
On the night of the hockey game, Spence insisted the available concessions would all be crap, so he filled them up with hearty bowls of venison stew over rice alongside fresh sourdough bread slathered with butter.
Ten minutes after they ate, Rhea met her in the entryway in black leggings, knee-high boots, and a green hoodie with the Seawolves logo across the front.
Emmy wore jeans and a long-sleeved thermal top in the same deep green, her hair pulled into a messy French braid.
Delaney drove, quiet while the two friends talked in the backseat, the guard’s black coat hiding whatever she wore beneath.
The city was buzzing, and Seawolf fans filled downtown sidewalks dressed in green and gold. Delaney parked and told Emmy. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been to a hockey game.”
Emmy shrugged. “Never hit my radar before.”
“Well, I can’t believe you snagged us an invite to the afterparty,” Rhea said.
Emmy smirked. “Jed is a hundred percent human, but damn, he has badass written all over him.”
Since Delaney wouldn’t go into the party with them after the game, Emmy wore a tracker toe ring as well as a stupid little mole behind her ear that would let Delaney hear everything.
Inside, the crowd’s energy hit her like a wall — cheers, jeers, pounding drums, the sharp metallic clamor of cowbells and stomping feet.
They found their seats in the middle tier, just behind the home bench.
When the Seawolves hit the ice to a roaring ovation, Emmy couldn’t help but grin.
She’d been to hundreds of football games in her life, but this was different. Faster. Colder. Rougher.
The game opened hard. Five minutes in, Morrissey laid the other team’s forward out against the boards and got two minutes for roughing.
He returned just in time to instigate a fight in front of the net.
Helmet off, gloves dropped, fists flying.
He got five minutes for fighting and another two for unsportsmanlike conduct.
Emmy whooped with the rest of the crowd.
Jed had invited her to the party, but she made a note to find and meet Morrissey, and she wondered what his first name was. A quick check on her phone told her Jed’s last name, Nelson, and then Morrissey’s first. Alexander. She wondered how he shortened it.
Apparently, a bunch of the upperclassmen on the team rented a house together, and that’s where the party would be.
The blue team scored first, but the Seawolves answered with two goals in the second period. Rhea informed her one was off a fast break, the other a power play slapper. Morrissey earned another penalty for boarding in the last period. He returned to the bench grinning like he’d won the lottery.
“Zane’s really close to getting ejected for good,” Rhea told her.
“Zane? How do you know his first name? It’s Alexander on the roster.”
“Because I pay attention to hockey.”
Her face had duh written all over it, so Emmy just said, “Good to know his name, since I’m pretty sure I want to fuck him.”
Rhea only shook her head and laughed.
They won 3–2, barely holding off a late surge. The final horn brought a wave of green-and-gold thunder, fans screaming themselves hoarse. Emmy turned to Rhea, eyes sparkling. “That was incredible.”
Rhea laughed. “Told you. You picked the perfect night for your first game.”
They headed for the exit with the crowd while Emmy and Rhea decided where they wanted to eat before going to the party.
The three ate at a Mexican place, and Emmy got started on the evening with two margaritas. Not that she could get drunk with her fast metabolism, but she enjoyed the taste and the energy of it.
The party address wasn’t terribly far from campus, and when Delaney pulled in front of it, she gave Emmy a flat look and said, “Have fun, stay aware. What’s your safeword again?”
Emmy smirked. “My safeword to bring you to the rescue is sasquatch. I’m not planning to need a safeword for rough sex tonight. I mean, I’m hoping for rough sex, just not expecting to need a safeword.”
They climbed out into the cold and walked toward the house. Music pulsed through the walls, the low, grinding bass vibrating in her chest. Before they even reached the porch, the front door opened and Jed was there, big grin, ball cap, Seawolves hoodie.
“You made it,” he said, pulling them both into a warm hug that lingered just long enough to register as interest.
“Jed, this is Rhea. Rhea, Jed Nelson.”
Rhea rattled off his jersey number and a bunch of stats, and Jed smiled. “A fan. I was actually pleasantly surprised when I found out Emmy here knew zero about me or hockey.”
“I know stuff now,” Emmy told him. “I enjoyed the game more than I expected to. Thanks for the invite.”
He grinned. “Come meet the crew.”
The inside was packed wall to wall with bodies, some half-dressed, many still in Seawolves gear, and it smelled like sweat, beer, and testosterone. Jed wove them through the crowd toward the kitchen, where four players were crowding around a keg and a tray of cupcakes iced in green and gold.
“This is Emmy and Rhea,” he told the guys. “Emmy’s the one I told you about.”
She saw recognition spark in one guy’s eyes — tight blond curls, two-day scruff, bandage on one cheek. He didn’t say anything, just gave her a slow once-over and a private smile.
Introductions blurred. At least three names started with K.
Rhea locked in immediately with one named Lucas, who claimed credit for two goals and was clearly riding the high.
She quickly tucked herself against the counter facing him, and within minutes, the two were debating cross-checking penalties.
Emmy had liked Jed from the start, with his easy smile and giant hands with scarred knuckles. The kind of guy who paid attention during conversations and didn’t just stare at her boobs, though he glanced down enough she knew he noticed.
But Zane held a magnetic appeal she couldn’t ignore, standing with a beer in one hand, a towel looped around his neck, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee that may as well have been painted over his muscles.
He wasn’t chiseled, but built. Big shoulders, thick arms, and a body made for slamming opponents into glass.
Functional strength, all bulk and power, like he trained by fighting bears and skating through brick walls.
Jed’s neck wasn’t as big, but his forearms were even bigger, muscles over muscles.
These men were built for power, not looks, and damn did that work for her libido.
The guy with the curls said, “Wait. Emmy Drake. Fuck. My brother went to MIT. Are you the one who got kicked out for fucking people on the soccer field?”
Emmy shrugged, but refused to be embarrassed. She met his gaze and told him, “It was midnight. A game between dorms. I decided a few on our side needed a prize.”
Fifteen seconds later, Zane looked up from his phone and said, “Wow, there’s a video of you on a balcony at Tulane with two men.”
Emmy blew out a breath. Her dad kept getting it taken down from the porn sites, but it kept getting put back up on others.
“Yep. That’s me.”
Zane met her gaze with a steady look and said, “Jed and I work well as teammates.”
She gave him a half-smile. “Good to know. I only play behind closed doors these days.”
Jed leaned closer to her ear. “That one’s a chaos goblin,” he warned, smiling like it was an inside joke. “Great on the ice. Shitty at remembering trash day. Not much better with names.”
“Mmm.” Emmy sipped her beer and asked Jed, “So do you agree that the two of you work well together?”
Jed smiled. “Yeah. He isn’t wrong about that.”
Zane downed the rest of his beer. “Let’s retire to the office.”
They took her to a room just off the main party area, and she noted the doorknob was flimsy, and the door didn’t close quite right.
“Nope,” she said. “Farther from people, and with a better door. Preferably one that locks.”
The two men looked at each other, and Jed said, “My bedroom. Morrissey’s room might need FEMA intervention. I have no idea how he finds the bed.”
She met Zane’s gaze. “My safeword is stop. Ouch means back off a little.”
Zane gave her a big, innocent look. “And why are you telling me this and not Nelson?”
She smiled. “He heard me because he pays attention. Also, how many times was he in the penalty box?”
Jed chuckled. “None tonight, but we played at Oregon last year and…” A sigh. “You can look it up. Lots of clips online showing my temper. It takes a lot to rile me, but…” He shrugged. “Asshole graduated, and it’s probably good we won’t have a chance to meet again.”
“He went pro,” Zane said. “I might run into him again.” He met her gaze. “Stop and ouch play as red and yellow. Got it.”
He leaned forward, put his shoulder into her hip, and stood with her before she realized what he was doing.
And then proceeded to walk her through the room full of revelers and up the stairs while the partygoers whooped and cheered.
Fuck.
At least there wouldn’t be video of the actual sex this time.
Jed opened the door and then closed it once they were inside, and Zane put her down, made sure she had her balance, turned to the door, locked it, and yanked to show her it was good and closed.
She appreciated that. Since Jed was right in front of her, she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. He lifted his arms and leaned down, to help get it the rest of the way off, and she grabbed one of his arms and looked it over while saying, “Holy shit.”
His entire arm was tattooed in a full sleeve. Bold blacks and grays curled from wrist to shoulder — wolves and ravens in flight, mountain peaks and shadowed trees, all dark and stormy with little pops of negative space that made it move when he flexed. She ran her hand over the impressive artwork.
“Beautiful work,” she told him. “Is there a story?”
“I’m part of the landscape. Wanted to make it part of me,” he murmured.