My skates take me to her before I’ve even decided to approach. I stop hard in front of her, spraying ice. She finally looks at me. My pulse goes into overdrive as our eyes lock. I can’t tell what color her eyes are from here, but I’m struck with this overwhelming desire that I want to find out. I want to move closer and memorize every inch of her face.
A small smile curves her lips and her left brow quirks up in an expression I can only describe as tempting. I stand dumbstruck eight feet away. It’s when she glances over her shoulder and checks to see if her date is paying attention that I finally snap out of it. （He isn’t, for the record. Idiot.）
I flip the puck up with my stick and catch it.
“You want a puck?” I ask, knowing full well it might look or sound like I asked her something else. I’d also be down for that. This girl is even more gorgeous the longer I look at her. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a black sweater. Casual but still striking. All that blonde hair. I want to wrap it around my fingers and tug.
She barely moves her head, but the no is clear from the tiny shake. Her rejection shouldn’t sting; it’s a stupid puck for fuck’s sake, but I want her to have it. People around her are starting to notice I’m giving away a puck and start clamoring for it. I point to her, making my intentions clear, and then toss it over. A guy in the front catches it and （reluctantly） passes it to her.
“If you don’t want to keep it, you could write your number on it and throw it back,” I suggest, raising my voice to be heard over the noise.
A faint blush paints her cheeks, and her lips pull higher. She has a great smile. Perfect full lips and dimples.
“I’ll give you my number,” some guy yells at me and the people around him laugh.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say, not taking my eyes off her. “She’s prettier though.”
She sits a little straighter, cradling the puck in both hands.
“What do you say?”
Still silent, she runs her fingers over the black disc in her hands. Her fingers are adorned in gold rings, but the important finger is empty. “I don’t think so.”
“Is that your boyfriend?” I ask and tip my head toward the guy that was sitting next to her. He’s still chatting away with someone a few rows up like the hottest girl I’ve ever seen isn’t waiting for him.
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, skating around?” Her stare lifts over my head to my teammates warming up behind me.
“Can’t. I just met my future wife and I need to know if she’s single.”
I can’t hear it, but her body language tells me she laughs quietly. “Yes.”
“Yes, you’re single?”
“No. I meant, yes, that’s my boyfriend.”
Damn. But not a total bust. People break up all the time. And he’s clearly not the guy for her. If she were mine, I’d never take my eyes off her.
Her date finally looks back down at her, notices her attention has been captured and then scowls toward the ice. When he finds me standing in front of his girl, he takes a step toward her possessively. I can hardly blame him. I’d fight me for her too.
Maybe I crossed a line hitting on his girl, but I regret nothing. Skating away is physically painful, but I don’t want to cause a scene and the game is about to start. I chance one more look at her. A rush of pleasure jolts up my spine when I find her eyes on me. With one last smile, I head to the bench. Time to go to work.
“To the start of a great season!” Declan raises his glass.
“This is the year,” Leo adds as he does the same.
“To shutouts.” Tyler grins smugly.
Each one of us says something along the same lines, flying high after winning our first game, and then we slam back our drinks. The first of many to come, judging by the atmosphere tonight.
Wild’s, the closest bar to the arena and unofficial team hangout after games, is packed, and it’s still early. I had to push my way through. Luckily, they always hold a couple of tables for us on home game nights in case we stop by.
My empty glass is quickly replaced with a full one. The guys scatter off to their girlfriends and wives, a few move toward the pool tables and dartboards. I linger at the bar and glance around to see who all came out to help us celebrate.
I smile when I find a familiar face. She moves through the crowd to get to me, hand raised over her head to get my attention. Everly, my teammate Tyler Sharp’s younger sister, comes in for a hug when she finally reaches me. I get a mouthful of her blonde hair as she lunges with enthusiasm.