Chapter 19
Nineteen
Gray
Tonight is your chance to make me one.
Christ.
I don’t need to be thinking about that message, don’t need to be letting my imagination run wild.
But all I can think of is those gorgeous lips curving up into a smirk, her pretty brown eyes sparking with challenge.
Beautiful.
She’ll have been beautiful writing out that message and hitting send and waiting for my reply.
Which, for the record, was:
Gray (via Smitty): Challenge accepted, Red.
And I wasn’t joking.
The problem is, she hadn’t replied.
Or maybe she had, but after I sent it, I had to relinquish Smitty’s phone back to him, finish getting dressed, and focus on the game.
A game that’s been fast and brutal and—
“Fuck!” I growl as Kingston Bang from the Eagles takes advantage of my distraction by crushing me into the boards.
My stick cracks, the fiberglass composite not able to withstand the big fucker’s force and my ribs groan in protest. Because, like I said, King is a big fuck.
I drop the two halves of my stick and shove him back, ignoring the pain in my side, the throb in my jaw, the way the asshole Eagles fans on the other side of the swaying glass are pounding on the plexiglass, shouting and cursing at me while, at the same time, cheering on King.
That’s hockey, and I know our fans do it too.
I just—
“Fuck,” I growl again, shoving him off and hauling ass toward the bench.
Our equipment manager, Ted, is already waiting at the end, stick extended toward me.
I snag it and turn back in a rush, rejoining Leo and Aiden, who’ve been holding down the fort for me in the offensive zone (and doing it while I was daydreaming about a certain woman at seriously the wrong time).
Leo’s pinned against the boards, scrabbling for the puck with King, Cam Jackson from the Eagles giving him a shove to his back before joining the scrum.
I whistle, watch Leo flick his gaze in my direction and jerk my stick to the corner, trying to take advantage of the open space.
It won’t last long, but when Leo pops the puck over King’s stick, I’m able to swoop in and scoop it up.
The Eagles defense is on me a mere heartbeat later, but I brace and keep position of the puck.
Watching.
Waiting.
Grinding my way to the front of the net.
My stick is slashed. I’m shoved from behind. Pain radiates through my hands and my core, all the muscles in my body working hard to keep my balance.
But I stay on my feet, retain possession of the puck.
And I watch.
And wait.
Leo streaks toward the net, drawing the goalie’s focus. One of the defensemen currently hacking the shit out of me curses and peels off, taking after him.
But I’m not trying to get the pass to Leo.
Nope.
I’m focused on Aiden…who’s circling around behind me.
I fake the pass, pretend I’m going to loft it over to Leo.
And, instead, I use the back of my stick and flick the biscuit between my legs.
Aiden makes use of his extremely talented hands to scoop up the puck, and he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t try to do anything fancy. He just takes advantage of his proximity to the goal and the mass of players—including Leo and myself—in front of the net and rips off a shot.
It’s already in the back of the goal before the Eagles realize Leo doesn’t have the puck.
The red light flickers on.
The crowd groans.
The opposing players around me curse and I earn another hard shove for my trouble.
I can’t care less.
I turn to Aiden. “Fuck yeah!” I throw up my hands, knowing that his shot is going to hit the social media highlight reels.
Picking that corner…whew, it was dirty in the best possible way.
“Fuck that was nice!” I exclaim as we hug.
I pound him on the back, shove at his shoulder, Leo doing much of the same as we make our way to the bench and fist bump our way down the line.
Then we’re through the open door, dropping down onto the metal bench. Smitty reaches over me to pat Aiden on the helmet it. “Nice fucking shot, man.”
Aiden grins but nods toward me. “Eh, Gray’s the one who did all the work and set it up for me.”
“You mean I got an assist along with an Ass Point.”
Smitty chuckles. Aiden grins. Leo shoves in beside me.
Because Ass Point is our newest inside joke—it can be from the puck literally (and this was where the term originated from) hitting someone’s ass and then going in the goal. Or it can be from like what just happened—a screen.
As in, my big ass in front of the net, blocking the goalie’s view.
In this case, it was my ass and others.
But I’ll take it.
And the assist.
Mostly because if that goal—and the rest of the game before it—doesn’t impress Faye then I don’t know what will.
We’re on another level tonight.
Passes are connecting. Shots are going in—even ones that aren’t nearly as impressive as what Aiden just did.
Hits are brutal, happening along the boards and at mid-ice.
Our goalie is killing it, making incredible, gravity-defying saves.
It’s like the entire team knows that Faye is at home, watching.
Judging.
And they’re ready to kick some ass to show her how good we are.
For the first time in several seasons, I grin as the camera on the Jumbotron cuts to me, winking, hoping that Faye is watching, that she hasn’t slipped out as the broadcast cuts to commercial, that my dumb face makes the feed.
I want her cheeks going pink.
Want her to wonder what the wink means.
Want her to be thinking about me as constantly as I’m thinking about her.
The whistle trills and I jerk my thoughts into focus.
Because I have a woman at home to impress.
I play my ass off, get another goal and assist on my tally and we win the game against the Eagles handily.
The moment the buzzer goes and my press obligations are complete (mostly painless for a change—or maybe it’s that, for once, I’m not thinking about Courtney but rather how quickly I can get home to Faye), I rush through my post-game routine, drive home (glad that the Eagles are in a neighboring city so it doesn’t take long), eager to see what Faye thought.
Of the game.
Of me.
But when I peek into her room, I find she’s asleep.
I linger in the open doorway as disappointment slices through me, watching her slow and steady breaths, wanting to crawl into bed beside her, but having no reason to.
She has no idea how much of that game was for her…
My only consolation is that the post-game broadcast is still playing on the TV.