Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
“Best behavior!” I yell to the boys as they file into the Moonshot Hockey arena. “And stick together.”
“They stopped hearing you the second we pulled into the parking lot,” Grady says with a fond smile as he watches the boys ahead of us.
He glances at me. “Don’t worry. They’ll be okay.
It’s possibly the only place we could have brought them that they wouldn’t be trying to sneak out and go somewhere else. ”
Inside the arena, the most die-hard fans are already here, eager to get inside so they won’t miss a second of the action. It smells of popcorn and hot dogs, and there’s the faint sound of music streaming out from the ice.
It’s my first time inside the Moonshot arena, though it’s similar to a dozen others I’ve visited. Swap out the colors and the pictures of players on the walls, and it could be any team in any city in the country.
A member of the team’s marketing department leads us to a private elevator, and we go down to the basement level.
As soon as I step out behind the boys, I come face-to-face with Conrad. Or rather a photo of him. His arms are over his head in celebration, one hand holding his stick, the other clenched into a gloved fist. He’s smiling off to the distance—likely at his teammates.
My attention is pulled away only by the excited gasps and shouts of the boys.
They’re moving from one side of the hallway to the other to stare at every single photo and piece of Moonshot memorabilia. There are signed sticks and pucks, pictures of the team with celebrities and politicians.
“This was a good idea,” Grady says, hanging back with me.
“Thanks.”
“How you convinced them to spring for a box and a meet and greet with the team is beyond me.”
My face heats, and I look away. “They were happy to do it. They really like the kids.”
“The kids, huh?” Grady’s brows lift. I think he might have a very good idea what’s going on with me and Conrad, but I’m not ready to tell him as much only seconds before we enter the locker room.
“Everyone ready?” the guide asks as we get to the end of the long hallway. Music, different than what was playing upstairs, pumps out from somewhere nearby.
There’s a chorus of “yeah” and at least one “hell yes” before the guide smiles and pulls open the locker room door. The music I couldn’t locate a moment ago spills out. Grady and I share an amused look as we follow the boys inside the Moonshot Hockey team’s private haven.
I’m hit with a flutter of nerves as I step over the threshold. Someone is passing out jerseys to all the boys and the excitement notches up another level as they pull them on over their shirts and take in the massive dressing room.
Like other arenas, the locker rooms are similar in the same way. Except the guy I’m currently seeing is standing in this one.
He’s a foot away, almost like he wanted to be near the door to see me as soon as I stepped inside. My mouth pulls into a grin that I couldn’t contain if I wanted to. He’s in his skates and uniform from the waist down, but the only thing covering his upper body are his shoulder pads.
Around the room, I’m sure the other guys are in a similar state as they finish getting dressed for warm-ups, but I don’t look away from Conrad.
Grady steps to him first and extends a hand. “Conrad Shepard. Nice to see you again.”
“You too, Coach.” Conrad is holding a couple jerseys in his other hand, and as they finish their greeting, he gives one to Grady.
Grady holds it up in front of him and reads the name on the back. “Galaxy.”
“I remember you saying you were a fan,” Conrad says.
“Thank you.” Grady continues to admire it. “I appreciate it.”
Conrad gives him a nod and then glances up and around the room. “He’s with Penn if you want to say hi or get that signed.”
“I think I’ll do that.” Grady glances quickly at me, then heads farther into the chaos.
When he’s gone, Conrad’s smile turns devious, and he waves the other jersey in front of me.
“Do I get a Galaxy jersey too?”
“You think I’d waste what might be my only opportunity to see you in a Moonshot jersey?” He shakes his head, then turns the jersey so I can see that it’s his.
I take it from him and clutch it to my chest. “My family may disown me.”
“I won’t tell.” He grins a little wider, then motions for me to follow him.
The music gets louder with every step. I spot Danny and Penn with a crowd of boys around them, including Landon and Pepper. Travis and Nick are talking with Grady, and the rest of the team is doing their part to make the boys feel welcome.
Conrad stops in front of the stall with his name and number. He pulls his game jersey off a hanger and puts it on. But not before I get one more good look at the visible skin around his pads. His abs are unreal, but it’s the V at his hips that I can’t seem to pull my gaze away from.
When my stare moves back to his face, he’s smirking at me. Oops. Busted.
“I’d offer to take it back off, but it’s almost time for warm-ups.” He winks.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I scan the room, enjoying how happy my team is in this moment. This is the only opportunity that most of them will have to see a professional hockey locker room and the players are being so gracious. And I know exactly who I have to thank.
“This is the best day ever!” Pepper yells as Danny signs the back of his jersey.
“Thank you,” I say to Conrad. “Again.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to tell me it’s no big deal or give someone else the credit, but I beat him to it.
“You’ve done a lot for them. Don’t say you haven’t.” It was his suggestion and then invitation that got the boys here. Grady and I accepted his offer, expecting cheap tickets, maybe a free hat, then Conrad delivered a box with unlimited food and a meet and greet before the game.
“Yes, but this one . . . tonight . . . this was for me.”
“For you?”
He takes the jersey in my hand and carefully drapes it over my head. I lift one arm, then the other, to let him help me into it. Once I’m wearing the oversized jersey, Conrad steps back and blatantly admires me in it.
“Yeah.” His voice is deeper and sounds like he swallowed gravel. “This was one hundred percent for my benefit.”
My face heats and then warmth spreads through my body. If I’d known this was going to be the reaction, I might have bought myself a Conrad Shepard jersey weeks ago.
The coach of the Moonshot Hockey team comes into the locker room, greeting the boys with a warm smile and a wave of one hand. The other is tucked into his suit pants pocket. He has a presence to him, and when the players give him their attention, so do the boys.
“Thanks for coming out tonight to help cheer us on,” he says. “I’ve heard great things about you boys. I hope this won’t be the last time I see some of you in this locker room.”
“Trying to replace us?” one of the Moonshot players shouts out from the back.
Their coach laughs it off, then pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. “Can I get one of you young men to read this for me?”
Landon is standing the closest to him and hesitantly takes the paper. “Is this the starting lineup?” he asks, voice filled with awe and trepidation.
“Sure is. Who do we have tonight?” Coach asks him.
Landon reads off the first name, “Galaxy.”
There’s a chorus of cheers, and the Moonshot players all clap once.
Landon glances around like he’s making sure it’s okay to continue, then reads the next one, “Bennett.”
Another cheer and clap.
“Marlowe.”
I catch Danny grinning as his teammates give him the same applause.
“Shepard.”
While everyone else cheers and claps, I look over and meet Conrad’s gaze.
The rest of the room fades away as Landon reads the final two names.
My skin pricks with an awareness that whatever it is we’ve been doing—it’s just taken a turn into something more.
I have his name across my back, but I think my heart is firmly in his hands.
Up in the box, I get caught up in the game with the boys. Moonshot is playing Chicago. The teams are pretty evenly matched, but the home team is up by one going into the second period.
Conrad takes the ice, briefly looking up toward the box. I doubt he can see me from this distance, but goose bumps dot my skin all the same. He looks good down there. He’s effectively disrupted the Chicago offense so that they aren’t getting a lot of good looks at the goal.
I’ve also noticed there’s a shift in momentum when he’s on the ice.
Everyone looks just a little sharper when he’s out there.
And most importantly, he looks like he’s having fun.
He’s serious when the situation calls for it, but between plays he seems to take it all in, smiling and cheesing it up with his teammates.
If I weren’t already falling for him, watching him play hockey might seal the deal.
Chicago wins the face-off and the action moves to the far side of the rink.
I take a sip of my Coke (they don’t have Dr Pepper for reasons unimaginable to me) and follow Conrad even when the puck is away from him.
He’s in front of the net, carefully watching the Chicago play unfold.
He shifts with every pass, every movement.
By the relaxed way he holds himself I could almost believe he’s being lazy, but I’ve seen him play enough to know that he’s smart and patient, and his reflexes are sharp.
Chicago attempts a long pass and that’s when Conrad lunges into action. He’s intercepted the puck and flying down the ice before anyone else realizes it. I suck in a breath and get to my feet.
“Oh, that was sick,” Pepper says, standing next to me as Conrad skates fast toward the opposite goal.
Players on both teams chase after him, but he’s too fast. Conrad takes the puck to the right side and fires a shot over the goalie’s left shoulder. The goalpost lights up, and I’m shouting and jumping along with everyone else in the box.
His teammates crowd around him, making it impossible to see Conrad except for on the jumbotron.
They zoom in on the celebration, and the moment Conrad comes into view, he’s looking up into the stands.
He lifts a hand and points toward the top of the arena—toward us.
That makes the boys go wild all over again.
“No freaking way. That was for us,” one of the boys says.
Grady leans over and whispers, “For us or for you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I focus harder on cheering and clapping and avoiding Grady’s stare.
After the game, we head outside to wait for our bus back to the high school.
“Driver says he’s about two minutes out,” Grady says.
“Okay.” I check that the boys are all accounted for and then pull out my phone. I send Conrad a quick text to congratulate him on the game. I don’t expect him to answer right away. He’ll undoubtedly have to talk to the media and want to cool down and celebrate with his team.
I pocket my phone and wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. I left my jacket on the bus and am seriously regretting it right about now.
Noise behind us grabs my attention, and I turn in time to see Conrad waving at a group of fans calling out to him and telling him nice job tonight. He’s gracious but keeps moving forward, heading for us.
Butterflies swarm aggressively in my stomach as he takes long, purposeful steps.
His smile is locked on me, but the boys block him.
Much like the other fans, they want to praise him for an amazing game.
Except in their words, it’s more like, “That was totally sick!” “You left those Chicago players in the dust.”
Conrad thanks them, all the while moving slowly through them to get closer to me. Our bus arrives as he finally reaches me.
“All right, gentlemen, on the bus.” Grady stands at the open door and corrals the boys inside.
“Pretty impressive,” I say to Conrad once we have a smidge of privacy.
“I had some extra inspiration tonight.” His grin pulls wider.
“The boys are very inspiring.”
“I meant you.” He takes a step closer and hooks his pinky finger with mine.
“Oh, you mean this old thing.” I tug on my jersey.
From the bus, one of the boys rolls down a window and then Pepper sticks his head out to yell, “Coach Whit, is Conrad Shepard your boyfriend?”
“What?” I step back from Conrad way too quickly and my voice lifts several octaves higher than normal. “No. We’re . . . we’re . . .”
I look to Conrad for help, but he’s just grinning at me like he’s waiting for me to figure out how to label us too.
“Friends,” I say too quietly for anyone else to hear.
Conrad quirks a brow, and his grin gets all the more smug. “Friends, huh?”
“If she’s your girlfriend, can we come to more games?” another one of my players yells.
I turn to reprimand them, but Conrad beats me to it.
“Sure.” His blue eyes twinkle with trouble. “If your coach agrees to be my girlfriend, I’ll see if I can get you playoff tickets.”
The reaction is immediate chaos, and now nearly every window is down as they all yell out at us.
“No way!”
“Come on, Coach Whit. Go out with him!”
Others are just chanting, “Coach Whit, Coach Whit.”
“You’d extort me in front of my team?” I gasp in mock outrage as my body continues to hum and tingle with a giddiness I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
He shrugs, but his face is turning a little red at all the attention. “What do you say, Coach Whit?”
“How could I say no to playoff tickets?”
Conrad chuckles softly and then swiftly closes the distance between us as he bends down and brushes his lips over mine. It’s quick, but the boys still hoot and holler. My face is on fire.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I say to him.
“Just kissing my girlfriend goodbye.”
He moves back, still facing me as he heads back toward the arena. “Oh, and for the record . . .” He flashes that charming smile at me. “I’d have gotten them the tickets either way.”