Chapter Two
Kingston
Idon't know what the fuck is wrong with me. Really, I don't. Normally, I ignore women. Pretending they don't exist saves time and frustration.
But I can't keep my eyes off Evie Alexander.
The petite brunette is the sweetest thing I've ever seen. I didn't even know eyes that shade of blue existed in real life…or that curves could actually be shaped like my future—specifically, one where my hands are all over her curves. But here we are.
As soon as she stepped into the locker room, my dick was fighting for his life, losing to my cup. The bastard is still fighting for his life.
The smart curve of her mouth, the soft slope of her cheek, the way those baby blues bounced around like she was trying to take in everything all at once… every inch of her has my system on overload.
It's like someone hooked up cables to my body, sending electrical currents straight through me. Every goddamn part of me is lit up, humming with an energy I've never felt.
I'm not stupid enough to ignore that.
It's the only defense I have to excuse the way I stare at her like I'm trying to brand her body with my gaze. Maybe I am. I want her to feel me everywhere, invading every cell.
Rufus really should have guarded her better if he wanted to keep her. If he even exists. I have my doubts about that. She doesn't lie very well. Her eye was twitching.
She sings like a fucking angel, though.
The whole arena is silent as she belts out the anthem. I've got my hand over my heart, feeling it pound ninety miles an hour as I listen to her nail the notes most people butcher.
I have no idea why I step out of line as soon as she releases the last soaring note. I also have no idea why I skate toward her, as if it's my job to escort her off the ice. I know damn well that I'm risking a penalty before we've even started.
Ask me if I care.
"Kingston, where the fuck are you going?" our captain, Harlan Briggs, shouts, staring at me like I've lost my mind.
The rest of the team is beside him in varying states of amusement. If Royce Elliot grins any harder, the fucker is going to crack his cheeks.
I don't even look at Coach J. I already know he's glaring at me like he wants to choke me out. Hell, he probably does. I'm supposed to be the level-headed one who helps Harlan keep everyone else in line.
This is not level-headed. This is some level of mind fuckery I can't even begin to comprehend.
I'm five feet from Evie. Five measly feet.
She sees me, and her pretty blue eyes flare with recognition and something that looks a lot like panic. She quickly turns like she's going to try to escape, murmuring something to Hughes Jackson, the suit standing beside her.
"Evie!" I shout, trying to stop her.
My earliest memories are of me in skates, chasing after my dad and uncles on the pond back at the family farm.
We spent every summer busting ass, and every winter playing hockey until we were so fucking cold, we were frozen.
I'm at home on the ice in a way I'm not anywhere else.
So there's no excuse for the way my legs wobble like I'm just learning.
And there's absolutely no goddamn excuse for the way I trip over my own feet.
I don't land on the ice.
I slide across the shit like a fucking puck. Face first.
Somehow, I manage to stop at her feet, staring up at her. Jesus. She's sexy as hell from this angle, all wide-eyed and flushed, staring at me like she isn't sure if she wants to kiss me or kill me.
I bet she'll look just as beautiful when she's on my cock…
The whole arena is pointing at me, roaring with laughter. I'm probably on national television right now, with the whole world watching me make an ass of myself.
Fuck it.
Asking her out is worth whatever jokes come my way.
"Hey, princess." I grin up at her. "Nice pipes."
For the record, I'm talking about her voice.
I do not think she believes that.
She blanches, her lips pursing. The look of utter annoyance she shoots me would fell a lesser man. Lucky for me, I'm already prone on the ice, my pride in shambles.
"You should really learn to skate if you're going to do this professionally, Kingston," she mutters.
If I thought the arena was laughing before, I was wrong. They roar when she lifts one dainty foot and steps over my body, her chin in the air like I don't even exist.
I grin like a madman as she walks away, her hips swaying with every nervous step, like she's worried she's going to end up on her ass on the ice beside me.
Fuck, she's perfect.
Ishower at record speed after the game, determined to find Evie before she escapes without giving me her number.
Coach has other ideas.
"Since you decided to put on a show tonight, you get to talk to the press," he says, grabbing me before I can duck out of the locker room.
Goddammit.
"But I need—"
"Save it, Monroe. She's already gone," he says.
"What?" I whirl to face him, scowling. "Where'd she go?"
He stares at me levelly for a long moment and then shakes his head, sighing so hard Jesus probably feels his breath on the back of his neck. "At least you didn't try to feed me a line of bullshit. You're smarter than you look, Monroe."
I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, so I just motion for him to hurry it the fuck up. He has intel I need. I'm willing to do shady shit for it at this point.
"She ducked out about twenty minutes before the game ended," he says. "If I had to guess, I'd say she was trying to avoid whatever questions the press wanted to ask her about your little stunt on the ice."
Ah, dammit.
Did I cause problems for her?
Fuck, probably. When isn't the press a problem?
I don't even do anything, and they find reasons to make up shit about me—like the time they swore my cleaning lady was pregnant with my kid just because she was my cleaning lady and pregnant. Her husband was thrilled about that.
I'm guessing they do the same thing to Evie. With a voice like that, she's probably fodder whether she likes it or not. And I probably made it worse tonight.
Fuck my life.
"I'll go talk to the press," I mutter, resigned to making up some bullshit story to get them off her back.
She will not be getting me off hers, however.
I don't care if she did flee like her life depended on it.
If I gave up easily, I wouldn't be a professional athlete.
No one makes it this far if they aren't relentless.
Maybe I need to rethink my approach, though. I need her to give me a chance, not step over my body like I don't exist again.
"You do that," Coach says, holding open the door for me.
I duck out, catching up with Royce in the hall.
He glances over at me, smirking. "Did Coach find you?"
"Yep. I'm on press detail with you."
"Figured." His grin grows. "They're going to eat you alive out there."
"Yep," I agree, not worried about it. I can handle whatever they throw at me. I always do. "What do you know about her?"
He doesn't ask who I'm talking about. He knows.
"What makes you think I know anything about her?" he asks instead, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"You wanted her autograph, motherfucker." I narrow my eyes on him. "You got a thing for her?" I like Royce, but I will fuck him up if he's thinking about making a move.
His laugh bounces off the cinderblock walls. "You read like a fucking book, you jealous asshole. No, I don't have a thing for her. Rain likes her music."
Well, shit.
Royce's brother was born with a heart defect and several other severe medical issues. Paying for his care was the only reason Royce decided to pursue hockey professionally.
"My bad," I mutter.
"It's all good." Royce grins at me. "But he could tell you everything there is to know about her and Kasen. All I know is that she's the next big thing. People are lining up to get a piece of her."
"Kasen?"
"Kasen Alexander." Royce looks at me like I've lost my mind. "You know, her dad?"
Kasen Alexander is her father?
"Ah, fuck me."
"You didn't know?"
I shake my head, muttering a curse. Kasen Alexander is one of the world's biggest stars. By all accounts, he's also one of the biggest pains in the asses in the world. The man literally kidnapped his wife twenty-five or so years ago.
If Evie is his kid, she won't be easy to impress.
And he is not going to be thrilled. Doesn't mean that's going to stop me or anything, but damn.
I would fall flat on my face for the one woman on the planet who doesn't need me, my bank account, my protection, or my bullshit.
I'm not sure what that leaves, but I guess I need to figure it out, don't I?
I'm not giving up. Not until she's mine.