Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice, #1)(17)

Maven hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

I wasn’t sure I ever could take my eyes off her.

“Pidge?” She finally asked.

“Pigeon,” I answered. “Just another word for rookie.”

“Ah,” she mused. “I like that one. Pigeon. Can I use it, too?”

“You can call me whatever you want to. Just make sure you like the name you pick.” I leaned in a little closer, lowering my voice. “I have a feeling you’ll be saying it a lot. Maybe in different decibels, too. Might want to try screaming it loud and high-pitched, just to make sure it feels right.”

Maven’s cheeks reddened again, just a light pink flowing over those warm brown cheeks peppered with freckles. I smirked at the sight of that blush, but it wasn’t there long before Maven clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.

“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?” she asked.

I leaned even closer. “Be honest. You would hate it if I did.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.

The smile that played at the corner of her dusty-rose lips told me I was right.





Precious Little Rituals



Maven



Present Me never been so thankful to Past Me than I was the afternoon of the Boston game when I rolled out my yoga mat.

Past me had wondered if it would be necessary to pack, if the staff would be annoyed that I brought it, if I’d even have time to use it. But present me was sighing with relief at the small bit of normalcy as I stepped onto it.

I knew it would be impossible to meditate this morning, to find any way to clear my mind, and I had been right. Everything kicked into gear quickly, and I had barely woken up before I was on the bus with the team headed to the rink for their morning skate.

So now that I had a little time alone in the afternoon, I succumbed to all my thoughts, letting them race through me as I began my practice in child’s pose. I needed to be grounded. I needed stillness.

The last week had been such a chaotic blur, I didn’t know where to start to even try to piece it all together. It was beyond me how one little gala with my best friend had turned into my entire life being uprooted. It was an exciting opportunity, but it was also draining — and I was completely out of my routine, out of my comfort zone, and more than anything, out of my usual energy level.

I was so tired, I could sleep for a year and still need more.

I decided a yin practice was what I needed, so I transitioned into a butterfly pose and settled in.

The plane ride with the team had been wild — and fun. Will Perry, or Daddy P as they called him, seemed the only one who was quiet and focused. The rest of the players let loose, singing loudly, talking, laughing, and playing cards.

I’d been a quiet observer for most of it, taking photos and videos and scratching notes down in my notepad in-between texts to Livia. She was the only person I knew I could talk to who would actually understand, given that she worked with these brutes on the daily.

I watched them with a smile on my face, marveling at how much they seemed like a family. It was like a plane full of twenty brothers, and the coaches and staff were like their cool uncles rather than their dads. At least, all of them except McCabe, who seemed to be the only one able to wrangle the boys with as little as a whistle and a stern glare.

When the guys were playing a card game in our little pod, Vince dealt me in, and though he didn’t pry, he made me a part of the conversation.

I hated how much I loved that.

I’d had my mind made up about him, and when he slung his stupid pickup lines or cocky jokes my way, it was easy to keep him in that box. He was a playboy, a cocky athlete who was used to the limelight, and even more used to always getting his way. I had no interest in him other than what he would do for my career.

I just needed him to stay there, in that box I’d placed him in, because when he asked about me, when he stood up for me to the other players when he didn’t realize I was behind him?

Things like that made the lid on the box pop open, and I didn’t like the thought of him getting out of where I’d placed him in my mind.

Throughout the day, I’d posted pictures and videos to my stories on the One Month with Vince Cool account, showing everything from the guys dressed in their travel day suits on the tarmac to them wrestling each other to the ground in the hallway of the hotel on the way to their rooms. All day long, the followers had ticked up, and any time I posted anything, it took only seconds to have thousands of likes and comments. I was also receiving direct messages with requests for what they wanted to see.

Please show us what they do after the game when they win!

OMG, please post what bar they’ll be at so I can show up and make Vince my husband.

Can you tell us what music he loves to listen to?

Can you show us pictures of him as a kid?

What does he like to do when he’s not playing hockey?

Is he DTF? If so, how do I get in on that?

How do I become his wife?

Tell Vince I said he’s a pussy.

That last one was from Jaxson Brittain, which made me laugh.

By the time my head hit the pillow last night, the account had half-a-million followers.

In one day.

That made my chest tighten with a performance anxiety I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. It also made me shake off my thoughts and focus on my mat. I needed to let go of all the noise. Otherwise, I’d drown in it.