Chapter 14 #2
She slowly pressed her hand across her mouth. My God. Were her eyes twinkling? Were they suddenly unfocused? Oh, this was ridiculous. “Wow.”
“He’s just a man.”
“No, Lily. He’s not just a man. He’s the man. The most incredibly handsome, smart, and suave hockey player in the world. You are so very lucky.”
Lucky. If only she knew how unlucky I felt. I tried not to curse under my breath, chewing on my inner cheek instead. I was also praying she’d drop the entire conversation, erasing it from her memory banks.
But I knew my best friend. I’d never hear the end of it.
“So what is happening now?” I threw in, deflecting the discussion.
“Try and enjoy a little of the game. Saint managed to snag these awesome seats. You need to enjoy the moment.”
Enjoy? I was freezing to death. I’d obviously not worn enough clothes to combat the icy chill. The seats were so hard my butt was aching. The beverages had been ridiculously expensive. And don’t get me started on how disgusting the hotdogs tasted. Why in the hell was this game so popular?
Now I rolled my eyes, startled as one of the players from the opposing team rushed by, coming so close to the barrier I jumped. He pummeled directly into a Wild Dogs player.
“The fucker did that on purpose,” she hissed and jumped up like everyone else in the stadium did. They were booing, screaming out obscenities.
I finally stood, the crowd behind us pitching forward until I was pressed against the barrier.
“That was illegal!” Vicky shouted.
“Why?”
She was obviously frustrated with me, leaning over since the screaming continued. “It’s called checking another player. See that player? That’s the Enforcer with the Wild Dogs. You do know which team is which. Right?”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“Hey. I didn’t know for certain. He wasn’t in possession of the puck, so the move wasn’t legal. He did it on purpose.”
Suddenly, the crowd’s heady boos turned into cheers.
I scanned the ice, finally noticing Saint, gliding across the ice, his stick on the surface.
“What’s happening?” His number and The Savage were printed on the back of his jersey.
The game was moving so fast that was the only way I knew for certain.
“Yes. Yes. Yes!” Vicky screamed, jumping up and down.
For some reason, I got caught up in the moment.
“This might be it!” she exclaimed.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“He’s going for it. Look at the Savage fly.”
Suddenly, it seemed as if every single person in the massive room had been intentionally hushed.
I knew enough to know the score was tied.
I’d also heard the Denver Devils were ruthless players, the hatred between the two teams notorious.
Saint had told me as much the night before.
But that’s about the breadth of my knowledge about the game.
I’d been too busy all day trying to abate the major crisis, fielding calls from my father, the coach, a dozen reporters, and some asshole who’d acted like I’d been slighting him for weeks. That had put me in a very cranky mood. This wasn’t the best end to a grueling day.
Even if I was supposed to be all smiles, rooting for my boy toy.
Yeah, right.
“What is happening?” A sudden wash of energy flowed through every muscle and the screaming started again.
“He’s going for a goal. Look at the clock. If Savage makes this goal, they’ll be in first place. There won’t be a curse. Savage! Savage! Savage!”
The curse. Did everyone believe in fairytales?
Everyone was shouting his name. All of a sudden, I was as well, cheering him on when I remained just as clueless as before.
Except I knew this was a defining moment and realized he needed to make the shot. If he didn’t, my job would be nothing but hell from here on out.
Everything was pitched into slow motion as he took the shot. The huge burly guy hovering in front of the net shifted from one side to the other before taking a stance. Now I got it. He was prepared to use everything he had to block the shot.
“Go. Go. Go,” I whispered, excitement building inside.
The puck flew into the air and there wasn’t a single person who wasn’t holding their breath.
When another slight hush swept through the crowd, I was certain he would miss.
The big Italian was ready for it. Reaching. Snarling. The mask on his face couldn’t hide the man’s hatred. I was holding my breath. I was leaning forward. The Italian Wall threw himself at the puck.
Suddenly, there wasn’t a single person in the stadium who wasn’t screaming Saint’s name.
“Savage!”
“Savage!”
“Savage!”
A rush of liquid splashed across my face followed by some asshole dumping an entire beer over my head as the jubilation increased. The sound level was off the charts, everyone chanting as if Saint was their Messiah.
Gasping, I turned around to face the culprit. The huge man was red faced, wearing a mockup of Saint’s jersey, pounding his fist into the air with not a care in the world.
Meanwhile, I was drenched, standing with a glare on my face and the venom of the most poisonous snake in my eyes.
He. Didn’t. Care.
Nor did anyone else.
Sloshing was a crowd thing, the collective jumping somehow in rhythm. As music began to play, videos of the melee washed across the Videotron screens, I finally turned back toward the ice, shaking my head.
“See that? Your boyfriend is a hero!” Vicky yelled above the roar. “Excuse me. Your fuck buddy.”
I elbowed her hard, but Vicky was a tough girl, doing nothing more than laughing.
At my expense.
The buzzer had gone off and I hadn’t paid any attention.
With the game over, hockey players and coaches swarmed the ice.
All the while, Saint had his arms in the air, gliding around the outskirts of the arena with a huge smile on his face.
He’d tossed off his helmet, generously basking in the glow and show.
Okay, he deserved it. I couldn’t lie that from what I knew, which was very little, he’d been the true star of the show.
Or game.
Whatever it was called.
Suddenly, a fight broke out, the Italian Wall and half the Devil’s players throwing themselves at the Wild Dogs.
The Wild Dogs weren’t backing down.
“Oh, shit,” Vicky moaned.
Dozens of people rushed onto the ice trying to break up the fight.
“This will make for juicy news, girlfriend,” Vicky roared.
Not the kind I was hoping for.
Helmets were off, punches thrown. When the Italian Wall threw a hard jab at Saint, catching him in the face, my nerves were shot to shit.
Please don’t shift. Please don’t shift.
I couldn’t believe that’s what I was thinking.
When Saint threw a couple of brutal jabs of his own, a strange sense of protectiveness rolled through me. I was also excited he’d nailed the bastard. There wasn’t a single person in the arena who didn’t have their phones pointed toward the melee.
Finally, after what seemed like way too long, the fight was dragged into control. Saint and Rocco snarled at each other again, both puffing their chests out and acting like… beasts.
“What now?” I yelled over the roar.
“There will be reporters and an after-party, I guess. You are invited. Right?”
It was another gritting my teeth moment. Saint had laid out the night to a point, telling me I’d be escorted to the locker room after the game. This was supposed to be our big moment. I hated every second of being shoved into the limelight, but there was nothing I could do.
The late afternoon phone call from my father had reiterated my purpose for this assignment.
And in his eyes up to this point I’d failed miserably.
Yes, there’d been some decent trending on socials about who the mystery girl was and other comments like ‘Is the hottest bachelor on Earth finally taken?’, but that hadn’t been enough to sway the more brutal comments about his wolfgate.
That’s what my father had called it. Wolfgate. What a load of…
My eyes opened wide. “Did he just blow me a kiss?” I leaned forward as Saint spun around and it would appear he was gesturing toward me.
Vicky leaned in as well, our shoulders bumping. “Um. Yes. He did. Don’t look now but I think he’s coming your way.”
“Oh, no. I need to get out of here.” I tried to back into the crowd, but she grabbed my arm.
“No, you don’t. You’re going to stand right her like a dutiful girlfriend. If he’s going to do what I think he’s going to do, the secret rabbit will be totally pulled from the hat.”
“What are you talking about? This isn’t magic unless it’s black magic.”
“Miss cynical,” she muttered, her eyes opening wide as Saint zigged and zagged across the ice and there was no doubt he was heading directly for me.
The crowd continued to go wild, their sweaty bodies pressing me forward. When the Savage gracefully skidded to a stop right in front of me, there wasn’t a rock big enough to crawl under.
Every aspect of the moment was once again forced into slow motion, the chanting sounds dulled in my mind since the only thing I could hear was the wild thudding of my heart.
He grinned, his eyes locking on mine. The moment was caught by thousands of spectators and I calculated in my mind how many pictures would be posted in ten seconds flat. Even worse, the Videotron and every screen were highlighting the painful moment.
“You are a star, baby girl,” Vicky said from beside me.
This didn’t make me a star. This made me some kind of crazy martyr. All I could think about was how much of a lie this truly was. As soon as he winked, I heard a collective gasp.
But he wasn’t going to stop there. Oh, no. The showman with the wicked and flashing eyes, a body made of steel, and perfectly tousled hair as if he’d just crawled out of bed.
After a hot, long, and rough round of passion.
With me.
The lump in my throat increased. When he grabbed his jersey, I narrowed my eyes. “What is he doing? Undressing?”
“Sort of,” Vicky giggled.
“What do you mean sort of? Here? I don’t need to see his sweaty body.”
“Well, I do and so does every other woman in the arena. That’s not what he’s doing.” Vicky was already squealing.
With the jersey off, my gaze slid to his incredible pecs and the beads of sweat glistening on his abdomen. Holy shit, the throbbing between my legs was intense. Wait. Did I smell desire? As in my panties were soaked?
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the jersey. Right at me. Which I caught. Against my better judgment.
“Yes!” Vicky clapped. The crowd went wild. Suddenly more people were on the ice, reporters heading in his direction. Saint didn’t have a chance to move. He stood only inches away from me, his eyes crazed with desire. There was no doubt the meaning of the soulful look he was giving me.
He was hungry. Famished.
And so was I.
“What does this mean?” I managed, although the sound was more like croaking.
“That’s a formal statement to the entire world that you belong to him.”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that, girlie. I can’t wait to see the explosion on the news. Imagine Instagram. Oh, and the videos on TikTok. Look at the Videotron. You really are a star. Too bad you didn’t get that haircut I mentioned, but you look pretty good. For an amateur.”
I was blinded by the moment, my eyes still locked with his. The echo in my eardrums was getting worse, but a reporter was already asking Saint questions.
“Saint. You and Rocco went at it pretty hard back there,” one reporter started.
My breath was raspy.
Saint shrugged. “He’s just a jealous jerk cause I’m a better player.”
“What if you meet in the finals? Any words for the man?”
His grin was far too mischievous. “Yeah. That he should choose another profession.”
At least his answer wasn’t too bad. I could work with that.
Another reporter crowded in.
“Saint. What an incredible game. You are on fire tonight. Even more so than usual. I think experts and your fans will agree you’re the greatest player in the league. Can you tell your fans why tonight was magical?” the reporter asked, the man’s face beaming.
Saint threw his hands out toward me first. That wasn’t too bad. Until he brought them back, crossing them over his heart. “Because of the woman of my dreams.”
No. He did not just say that.
The man was messing with me, doing his best to unnerve the rather fragile state of mind I’d found myself in after our lurid act of passion.
Vicky gripped my arm as she’d done before.
The people in the stands were still going wild, the heat surrounding me instantly oppressive.
As the Videotron shifted from Saint to where I was standing, my legs began to shake.
“Can you tell us who this magical girl is?”
With his hand still over his heart, Saint lifted his head, staring me directly in the eyes. “My beautiful Lily Weathers.”
“And who is Lily to you, Savage? We’d all like to know.” The reporter was positively salivating as if this was the story of the century.
“She’s my…” Saint hesitated, making most of the blip in time of his fame and glory. “Lily is my fiancée. The woman I intend on spending the rest of my life with.”
Oh. My. God.
Forget the dull spoon. I’d kill him with my bare hands.