Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (10)

Somehow I manage to lift my gaze to a more appropriate destination, like his face, but it’s equally distracting. Inky wet hair sticks to his forehead, neat brows curving gently above his eyes, and the narrow bridge of his nose, which is somehow perfect even though I know it’s rare to play hockey unscathed.

Elias’s gaze melts over me. He only looks away to glance over his shoulder at his half-naked teammates, all staring at the finger I have adamantly pointed at him.

The silence inches toward discomfort.

I finally find my voice again. “Do you make Mason do all your dirty work?”

Dark brows knit together. “What?”

Unbelievable. “Your agent? You put his number in my phone at the auction because you were too scared to just reject me like a decent human being.”

There’s a low sound of disapproval from his teammates, some of whom I’ve met from hanging out at the arena with my uncle or picking up the odd job here.

Seeing Elias’s throat bob brings a cool sense of satisfaction to the fire that burned beneath my ribs earlier. The part of me that worried if he even remembered my name dissipates quickly when he awkwardly brings a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Can we talk outside?” he says.

I nod, understanding that being half naked with an equally exposed audience isn’t the best time for a confrontation. Though I have no qualms about it.

I head out, pacing the halls and hoping my uncle doesn’t spot me.

When I’m taking a sip of water at the fountain, I hear his words. “You have every right to be angry, Sage.”

I wipe my mouth and watch his approach. He’s dressed in a dark blue Thunder T-shirt that stretches across his chest and biceps, easily snatching my attention and slowing my thoughts before I consciously reel them back.

“You remember my name?”

He stares blankly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sorry for giving you the wrong number. I was stressed that night, and as you know, I haven’t had the best luck with women trying to come into my life.”

When he pushes back the damp hair that was sticking to his forehead, I find myself mapping the contours of his face. His brown eyes, straight nose, and a bottom lip plumper than the top one blend together effortlessly. He’s impossible not to stare at. It’s a shame they make hockey players wear helmets that obstruct the fans’ view of their faces. Maybe I should start a petition.

“And I’m always extra cautious. Giving out Mason’s number is like second nature now.”

Suddenly, I feel terrible for ripping into him for something that’s a safety precaution. I don’t follow hockey as closely as Sean, who knows everything about the players and their history, so this is past my area of expertise—which isn’t much to begin with.

“I’m not going to stalk you,” I finally say.

“I didn’t think you were, but it’s a habit.” He digs his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. “Here. Put your number in and call yourself.”

I’m already backing away. This is so embarrassing. Getting a guy to pity me, then bullying him into giving me his number, is a new low for me. “No need. I get it, I don’t want to intrude.”

“I want your number, and I want to take you on that date.”

That’s what he said last time.

“Are you sure this isn’t a burner phone?”

He doesn’t laugh as he hands me his phone. Snickering, I punch in my number and call my phone.

“Now, don’t go handing that out to just anyone,” I remark. “Unless they’re seriously hot.”

“I thought you weren’t into hockey players.”

“It seems I’ve made an exception.”

He glances up from his phone with an easy smirk. “That makes two of us.”





FIVE


ELIAS




THERE ARE A few weeks left before the hockey world falls into the frenzy of preparing for the Stanley Cup playoffs, a qualification nobody was expecting from the Toronto Thunder after the previous year’s poor season. The pressure is on, because Mason’s main selling point for me was my goal average at Dalton University. It was one of the highest in the NCAA, and it’s no secret that the Thunder banked on my ability to execute that for them. However, with my current circumstances, none of that seems possible, and the eyes on me are a heavy, unrelenting weight.

To my surprise, even with the very real possibility of a trade looming over my head, my mind isn’t on the road to the finals today. I’m thinking about the text I sent Sage earlier this week about our date. There’s nothing good that can come out of taking her on a date, even if it’s technically for charity, because if we’re together, she’s going to be turned into another notch on my very public bedpost. However, I’m staying true to my word and hope to avoid a repeat of the locker room confrontation. I arranged a date for us with Mason’s help, and she agreed to meet today.

“You look nice,” Aiden comments as he heads to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to grab a carton of orange juice. His gaze lingers on me as I slip on my shoes by the front door.

“I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

“Out?” He chokes on his juice, slamming his fist into his chest.

“With Sage,” I clarify. He grins with a knowing smile. I roll my eyes and leave before he starts gloating.