Page 35 of Boarded Hearts

“This is a little upmarket for an impromptu breakfast, don’t you think?” Felicity turns to me, tucking a wave behind her ear, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice which I can’t help but find endearing.

“I need a breakfast fit for a king after this morning’s session and ahead of tonight’s game. It’s a must-win.” Coach’s words from Thursday replay in my mind, and for me, tonight feels like a Stanley Cup final.

“I can’t imagine the Jon Morgan is nervous about any game.” She lightly prods me in the ribs with her elbow, flashing me a warm smile. Damn, she’s cute.

“Yeah? You’d be surprised. Anxiety’s my middle name.” I don’t know why I say it. We weren’t even talking about anxiety; she was referring to pre-game nerves. But the word tumbles from my lips so easily. For a minute I think about taking it back, but the seriousness of my tone gave me away.

Felicity stops in her tracks, twirling a few strands on the fringe of her trademark emerald scarf around her pointer finger.“Want to talk about it?” she asks, a tender tone laced through her voice. I love that she doesn’t assume I want to dive headfirst into my issues with her and doesn’t start probing for information. She just leaves the door ajar in case I want to step through.

We’re standing right by the Seattle waterfront, the chilling winter freeze slicing through the air as it blows her silky waves around her flawless fair complexion, her rosy lips shine with a gloss she applied before she left her apartment.

I tip my head down toward her, bringing my height closer to her level, our foreheads only a couple of inches apart. “Not much to tell,” I say in a whispering voice. I close my eyes, inhaling her addictive coconut scent, made even more intense by the swirling wind, and it’s at this moment I want to kiss her again. But I’m still unsure of her boundaries. Zach’s words from Thursday night ring in my ears: “Lock that down.” And I want to, so badly, but when it comes to whatever this is with Felicity, I’m navigating it without a map or GPS. Every time I think I’ve found my way with her, I come up against a roadblock and the last thing I can afford is for the wheels to come off completely. I see her tongue dart out wetting her bottom lip, and I know she feels it too, that she wants this, or at least to feel my mouth on hers again.

Despite every cell in my body screaming to kiss this woman in front of me and make her mine, I lift my head and glance at my watch. The reservation I made when I arrived at her apartment was set for five minutes ago, and given I emailed the owner asking to seat us in a private area so last minute, I feel like a dick for not being on time.“We need to head inside,” I thumb over my shoulder, still lost in her emerald eyes as she searches mine for answers to my earlier admission. The way she’s looking at me, Jon Morgan, not the NHL star but the person, the man beneath the pads and bravado, simultaneously eases and spikes my anxiety all at once. Having her here with me and knowing she cares soothes my worries, but not knowing if that look is from a friend or a woman who wants more but is too scared to let it show, leaves my heart dangling over a precipice. But I’m too far gone to pull back now. Regardless of whether or not she’ll catch me at the bottom, the truth is I’m falling, or maybe even fallen for her, but I’m going over the edge no matter what.

I turn to walk toward the restaurant, and as I do, she catches my hand. Her tiny warm fingers wrap around mine as they dwarf her soft touch.“Wait.” Her voice comes out shaky, and her breathing is fast-paced and shallow as she pulls me back around to face her. Her hand darts up toward my face as she gently pulls on my cap, bringing my head down closer to hers.

At first, I wonder what she’s doing, but I’m not kept guessing for long as she rises on her tiptoes to close the final space between us, gently tracing her sweet plush lips against mine. Her breath is minty and when she lets out a tiny, sweet sigh, any self-control I was nursing a moment earlier rapidly disintegrates as I gather her in my arms, pulling her closer to my body.

I desperately want to feel her pressed against me once more, but I’m also aware of the biting chill and I don’t want her to get cold. Releasing one hand from her waist, I bring my finger up and under her chin, tipping her head slightly to deepen the kiss. This kiss has so far been tender and a little unsure, both of us dancing around, enjoying each other’s touch. But now I want to taste her again. Her tongue peaks out to gently caress mine in perfect harmony, and I smile against her lips, our foreheads resting against each other.

“Christ, what are you doing to me, Angel?”

I ask the question, but I don’t need to hear the answer. It’s becoming clearer and clearer. Friends don’t kiss like this; friends don’t feel all I know she’s feeling right now. And as I break our connection and take her hand in mine, walking her toward the restaurant, I can’t help but think she might break my fall after all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FELICITY

“Here we go!”Kate screams in my ear, practically deafening me. “Oh my god these seats are awesome! You lucky bitch, getting to enjoy this view every home game.”

I hand her the loaded nachos she ordered and wave at a couple of people sitting close by. Over the weeks, I’ve started talking to the other regular fans, and it’s hard to miss that more people have started to take an interest in the growing dynamic between Jon and me. I won’t lie—it sort of makes me a bit uncomfortable, but I think people are largely being respectful.

“Yeah, well this lucky bitch is considerably less well-off thanks to these seats,” I retort. I’ve saved for years for Jack and Darcy’s eighteenth birthday presents and thankfully had some money left over from the inheritance I received from my parents. The season tickets are a dream for Jack, and I'm so pleased my mum and dad’s legacy could go some way to making it a reality for him.

I’m also pleased I can bring Kate; she occasionally attends games but largely watches on TV. Jack’s game clashes with this one, so he can’t make it, and when I can, I plan to go to watch his games more now that he’s breaking into the team and getting ice time. He needs his family and support in the stands, and over the past couple of weeks, he tells me his form has improved and his coach is pleased with the advancements he’s making to his technical game. I’m proud of him but still worried he’s going to burn out.

My jacket starts vibrating and I pull out my phone, and ugh, Elliott’s name flashes across the screen as I hit reject. This is the third call I’ve had from him today followed by a couple of texts asking me to call. I replied asking if Darcy was okay to which he’d said yes, but he needed to discuss something with me. I’ve learned over the years that when Elliott wants something, it has to be a priority for everyone else, and he expects all those around him to drop everything for his needs. But now, unless it involves our children, he can wait. Besides, I’m in the middle of a deafening hockey stadium.

“Oh, hold these again for a quick sec.” Kate thrusts the nachos back into my hands, and I roll my eyes. I knew the popcorn, big gulp, and nachos would be a handful, but she was determined to get all the snacks.

Kate winks at me before removing her black jacket revealing Jensen’s jersey with his number eight-eight stamped on the back, sleeves, and chest. She leans forward and pulls her long blonde hair to the side, revealing Jones and giggles to herself.

Taking the nachos back once again she shoots me a smug smile. “Do you think he’ll notice?”

Oh, he’ll notice. Jon always stops by my spot on his routine lap around the ice, and if Jensen doesn’t clock it right away, Jon definitely will. “I think that’s a dead cert, babe.”

“Excellent!” she replies, sounding pleased with herself. I’ve got to hand it to her—confidence oozes from every pore. She’s one of those women who truly doesn’t give a shit what others think, save for a few she’s close to. She’s unapologetically Kate, with a bright smile and a feisty temperament in just the right measure.

A few minutes later, the players are being introduced onto the ice, ready for warmups. Music beats around the stadium and strobe lights chase across the walls. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and a chill races down my spine. I love this part of attending games, the display and drama they put on for the fans, but I’m not going to deny the truth of why my body reacts as it does.

Every time I see him, he sends my heart rate racing, but when his tall masculine body is clad in hockey gear and gliding effortlessly around the rink, my pulse hits overdrive. It’s useless denying the effect Jon Morgan has on me, and when he enters the rink and slows, dragging his gloved hand across the plexiglass with a dimpled smile reserved only for me, Kate sees it all in live color. His smile, the deep pink flush on my cheeks, and the way my breathing picks up. She grins, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth, happy to be here for more than just one show.

The game between Dallas and the Scorpions is tight, with both teams all square at zero-zero as we get close to the end of the first period. Jensen is playing incredibly, making crazy saves even my uneducated eye recognizes to be out of this world, and Jon has been picking up defense more than usual. I’ve never seen him so locked into a game before. He’s running the show out there, but both he and number ninety-eight, who I don’t really recognize but Kate tells me is Jessie Callaghan, giving me all the gossip on his trade last season, have been denied in front of goal.

The end of the first period and the players begin skating off the ice. I catch sight of Jon, who’s skating backward, removing his mouthguard. He flashes me a cheeky grin before disappearing down the tunnel.

Jensen, on the other hand, is still skating across the ice, his gaze firmly planted in Kate’s direction.“I think he’s spotted the jersey,” she comments, a giddy tone to her voice.

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