2. Parker
I love having an audience.
When I was a kid, I”d try to get up and practice every day. But the empty rink in the early morning light always struck me as off. Oh, I”d still put in the hours, but it wasn”t until other people showed up that I really felt on.
I can”t be in the zone without someone watching.
Once I feel those eyes on me, once I have the added pressure of someone watching, that”s when I really perform. Practice has always felt like a bit of a waste because I know it”s not real. But practice makes perfect, so I push through. It helps if I can have eyes on me doing drills, too.
Now that I”m in the big leagues, I”ve always got eyes on me. Some people, like our taciturn goalie Erik, might hate it. But me?
I love being watched.
”Quicker, Parker, quicker!” Emerson calls from the sidelines.
He and Dakota are half my audience as I run shooting drills. Under their watchful eyes, I”m improving by leaps and bounds. Emerson Stone is one of the team”s best forwards. He”s lightning-fast — but even his speed couldn”t save him from an illegal hit to the head. Now he”s on injured reserve, but he”s still here every day, training and coaching us.
Well, mostly me. It makes sense because I”m his replacement. Emerson”s injury is terrible, and I never wanted anyone to get hurt —
But I”m still glad for the chance to show off.
I work my legs, pouring on speed. If they want fast, I”ll show them fast. We”re doing breakaway practice, drills for when you get a one-on-one situation. I know I”m good, but I need to be better to keep my spot on the squad once Emerson fully recovers.
Erik, the goalie, is already studying my approach. With no one else on the ice, he knows the shot is coming from me. It”s a bit of an unfair, unrealistic drill. He”d have to worry about me dumping the puck to a teammate in a real game. Here, in a one-on-one, he can focus solely on me.
Sawyer is on the ice with us, but he isn”t helping. The team captain is studying us both from a closer perspective than the sidelines. Payton, his little sister, is by his side, but she”s not looking at me. She”s studying Erik.
Makes sense. Two sets of eyes, two of us.
Payton is almost a carbon copy of Sawyer. Same light blonde hair, same sky blue eyes. Same skills, too — Payton is also a demon on the ice. If she was a man, there”s no doubt she”d be on the squad too. But it makes her a fantastic social media manager. She knows the ins and outs of the game better than anyone else.
Even with a professional coaching staff, Sawyer, Dakota, and Coach Morgan often rely on Payton”s careful eye for detail to catch the things they miss.
Then there”s Sofie Rivera. The team photographer peeks out from around the telescoping lens that might as well be attached to her face. Her dark eyes meet mine across the ice, and for a moment, the world stops. Then she raises the camera again, blotting out my view of her like a cloud moving in front of the sun.
Sofie is short and compact, with the kind of deep caramel complexion and hourglass curves that can drive a man to his knees. Her hair is an inky black riot of curls. Even the pale pink headband she”s wearing isn”t enough to contain the wild explosion of it around her face and down the middle of her back. Behind the Nikon, her features are a careful mask of disinterested concentration.
Her brown eyes are warm and wide, framed by thick black lashes. When I can see them, anyway. Usually, Sofie makes a point of disappearing behind the safety of her camera.
But I caught the way she was looking at me just now. There was a spark of something hot enough to melt ice in Sofie”s eyes. I recognize it as the same fiery need that ignites in my gut whenever she”s standing too close.
Sofie could be looking at anything right now. For all I know, she”s photographing the empty stretch of ice behind me. But she”s not. She”s looking at me.
The realization makes me want to throw my head back and crow.
That look isn”t about professional interest or dedication to her job. It isn”t even the dreamy-eyed stare of the dedicated fans that pack the arena on game night. Sofie watches things. Studies them from behind her shutters and lenses until she”s seen what the rest of us miss.
But I know what I saw in her mahogany eyes. I recognize it. Hunger. Now I just need to figure out a way to—
”Deke, deke,” the cry comes from Sawyer as he skates towards me.
A tiny spark of resentment ignites in me, and I blow out a breath to tamp it out. I was going to deke anyway. But now that Sawyer told me to, it will look like I”m blindly following his directions. There”s nothing worse than someone telling you to do something you were about to do.
I fake left, then right, reminding myself that I”m supposed to listen to my team captain, even when the most beautiful photographer in the world is watching. Maybe even especially then.
”Don”t watch his stick. Watch the puck!” Payton shouts at Erik.
She”s streaking across the ice, her features scrunched into a petite replica of Sawyer”s Game Face. Payton may work in a corner office and spend her days agonizing over social media metrics, but she”s right at home in the rink. She”s clearly picked up a few things from her big brother through the years.
The way she and Erik stare daggers at each other makes me think Payton might want more than pointers from the team goalie.
I toss a third feint in, cutting back to the right. I wind up my shot, making sure not to hold it for too long. If I do, I know Emerson will be all over me. He hates the way I telegraph my shots.
He”s right, of course. But I can”t help it. Some athletes are motivated by money, fame, or beautiful women lining up to crawl into their beds. Not me, though. I”m driven by one thing: the roar of the crowd.
Call it pride, ego, or exhibitionism on ice— it”s all the same to me. A stadium full of people is my drug of choice. There is no high quite like the rush I get when thousands of eyes watch me do what I do best.
I pull back, poised to start the perfect shot.
There”s a flash from the sidelines. It”s not overly bright or noisy, but it catches the corner of my eye anyway. Worse, I know the familiar burst of light was caused by Sofie. A second stretches out into infinity as the image of her forms in my mind. Heart-shaped face, quiet smile, and eyes like strong coffee first thing in the morning.
Erik”s eyes are on the puck, and he”s not daydreaming about a member of the staff. So I don”t see his reaction when my shot misses him and the net. Not just misses, either. It”s wide by a few feet.
A smattering of laughter rings out across the ice and trickles into the sidelines as my face flushes.
”Again,” Sawyer calls out, cutting through the teasing laughs like a hot knife through ice. ”Maybe this time, Parker, keep your eyes on target.”
Sawyer is a good captain, in and out of the rink. Between his charity work, spotless reputation, and movie star good looks, he”s well-earned the Captain America nickname over the years. Even now, he is genuinely trying to help.
I recover the wayward puck without a word and skate back to my starting position at the red line.
Sawyer doesn”t understand. How could he? I haven”t even figured it all out yet. But there”s one thing I know for sure.
Behind the glass partition of the penalty box, Sofie raises her camera. There”s another explosion of flash as she takes a picture of us. I Can feel her eyes on mine through layers of glass and plastic.
My eyes are on the target.
Hours later,I”m still circling the ice, my muscles screaming from exertion.
Sawyer might be a nice guy, but he”s relentless. He expects perfection out of his team— and then leads by example. I”ve been riding the bench for weeks, waiting for a chance to prove myself as part of the team. Now that I”m on the Snowhawks” main roster, those expectations are breathing down my neck like a dare.
I”ve never backed down from a challenge. And I don”t intend to start now.
”Erik, you move like my grandma out there. I can”t believe you let a rook like Parker score on you.”
Sawyer may be relentless, but Payton is ruthless.
This morning, I would have laughed at the idea that Sawyer is the laid-back sibling. But a few hours on the ice with Payton was more than enough to realize that she”s the definition of intense. Or possibly insanity. Sawyer is dedicated, but his little sister is ferocious.
”I swear, Nordstrom,” she sighs as we leave the arena. ”I”m going to try out for goalie if you don”t get your act together.”
Payton and Erik are walking side by side, and the energy crackling between them is almost palpable. Even back in her spiked heels, she”s easily a foot shorter than the Viking. It doesn”t seem to phase Payton as she clips along, keeping pace with his long stride.
We”re leaving as a group, though Dakota has already disappeared. No doubt making a beeline to whichever gym or workout center Kai is in.
”J?vlar. You wouldn”t last a night in my skates, Payton,” Erik fires back.
I don”t know any Swedish, but I recognize a curse word when I hear it. Payton apparently does as well because she marches ahead to put herself in front of Erik. No easy feat in heels, especially after the workout Sawyer just put us through.
”You want to throw down with me, Nordstrom?” There”s fire in her eyes. ”Because we can go again. Right now.”
I”ve got to admire her balls, even if she”s crazy. You do not mess with goalies. But Payton doesn”t seem to care or even notice that Erik is literally head and shoulders taller than she is.
Sawyer must agree with me because he puts himself bodily between them, grabbing Payton gently. He doesn”t bother with subtlety. Instead, he maneuvers her as far from Erik as physically possible.
”Thanks for all the help tonight, Payton. I”m sure you have lots of work to do.” He says pointedly. ”Erik, see you tomorrow. I”ll walk you home, P.”
Sawyer keeps walking as he talks, dragging his sister away with him.
Erik stomps off in the opposite direction without a word. Well, at least not any in English. I don”t know Swedish, but I can tell he”s swearing.
Leaving just me and my little voyeur.
Perfect.
I steal a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. As always, she”s fiddling with her camera. Flipping through images on the screen, rapid-fire.
She”s quiet. Nothing new there. I can probably count the number of times I”ve heard her voice on one hand. It”s a shame, too. Because Sofie has a voice like spiced honey. Warm and low with a hint of promise dripping off every word.
Her blacker-than-black curls cascade down her back, long despite their bounce. Some people have dark brown hair that looks black.
But Sofie”s hair is the color of night. It”s true black— like a stretch of starless sky or the ocean at midnight. Even her mahogany eyes, so dark that her pupils nearly disappear, look a shade lighter in contrast.
Sofie is wearing a sleeveless tee shirt in the same soft pink as her headband. The saturated colors of a tattoo spread out from beneath the thin straps of her top. It”s an intricate piece— starting at the base of her neck and winding down to her shoulder.
Both hair and eyes are darker than the faint hint of ink peeking out from her shoulder. Her frame is slender, except for her well-endowed posterior, which I definitely haven”t dreamt about.
”Want to grab a drink with me?” I ask, fracturing the silence into a million pieces.
”No.”
Sofie is a girl of few words, but still, I was hoping for more than that.
”Why not?” I ask, borrowing a move from Payton”s playbook and putting myself in front of her.
”I don”t do bars. Too loud,” she says, still working her camera. Her thumb is almost a blur as she spins a dial, flicking through images faster and faster.
I scoot around, twisting to see what she”s looking at.
Picture after picture of me. Me, skating. Me, shooting. Sofie is the team photographer; I”d expect at least a few of Erik. But everything she”s looking at is focused solely on me.
”Alright. We can go somewhere quiet,” I offer, my voice gentle.
Sofie finally looks up at me. Her dark eyes make my heart skip a beat, make my cock stand up and start panting. They pierce right through me. I don”t want a drink from this girl.
I want a lot more.
”Why?” She asks. Her pink tongue flicks out, wetting her lips. Both of those have featured prominently in several of my recent fantasies.
A lot of things spring to mind that I could say. Because I want to kiss you. Because I”ve never crushed this hard. I don”t think it”s even a crush. Because you”re the most beautiful thing I”ve ever seen.
”Because you owe me. Your flash ruined my shot earlier,” I flash her a smile.
She shakes her head, her lips twitching up at the corners.
”If you can”t handle a little flash, Parker, you”re not cut out for the big leagues,” she says.
I take a step closer, reaching out to tap her camera screen.
”I”ve seen you watching me, Sofie,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
She swallows but doesn”t step back. Doesn”t make space.
”It”s my job to watch,” she whispers.
Her eyes are enormous in the low light of the early evening. Even in the middle of The Nest, the ambient light pollution is low. The only thing I can see reflected in her dark eyes is starlight.
Starlight, and me.
”So let me take you out somewhere. I promise there won”t be any crowds. Just us,” I take another step closer, bringing our faces inches apart.
Her hand reaches up to close around mine and pull it away from her camera. The moment her skin touches mine, it”s all over.
She”s so warm. I”ve spent my life devoted to the ice, but that changes when I touch Sofie. Because Sofie is fire in flesh. Sparks leap along my skin as her fingers caress mine, and I watch her eyes widen as I lean in close.
Without another word, I kiss her.
I have to. Fish swim, birds fly, and I kiss Sofie. I don”t grab or pull her small frame close to me. Don”t sink my fingers into the sweet curve of her ass like I want to. I just lean forward, closing the distance between our lips.
She doesn”t hesitate for a moment before kissing me back. Her lips work against mine. Her tongue slides across mine as I slip it against her lips. She even tastes warm, her breath hot against me as we break our kiss.
Before I can pull back, her hands are twisting the fabric of my shirt and hauling me in to kiss me again. This one is more desperate, more passionate, more hungry. She sinks her teeth into my bottom lip as we pull apart, dragging it back just enough to hurt.
The camera slips from her grasp, but I catch it.
”Careful, you don”t want to break anything,” I say as I hand it back.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she pants, her eyes wild. She glances around, shakes her head, and turns to run off.
I let her go. If she needs space, that”s fine. I”m already planning our date in our head.
The way she kissed me?
I know it”s just a matter of time.