Page 6 of Boarded Hearts

Stepping off the monorail, I arrive at the Scorpions’ stadium.

Time to collect Jack’s present, ice-level season tickets. Prepare to officially become his favorite person, Felicity.

I've been here a couple of times with Jack over the last eighteen months, but we always ended up in less-than-great seats.

Checking my watch, I realize I’m late to meet Kate for lunch and totally lost in the maze of corridors. Where is the box office? I reach for my bag and pull out my phone, typing a message to Kate, letting her know I’m going to be late because, apparently, I can’t follow signs effectively, when I hit a wall. A very muscular wall.

On impact, I fumble backward as my phone flies across the room meeting its end with acrack. Dammit. I’m about to hit the ground when I feel a strong arm loop around my waist, hauling me back to my feet.

“Hey, whoa there, you okay?” a deep and sensual, almost not-of-this-world voice permeates my shocked state as I'm stood the right way up.

Gathering myself and pulling my dress down to a respectable length from where it had gathered, let's just say to higher than mid-thigh, I begin my visual ascent.

Holy mother.

Have I died and gone to heaven or suffered some sort of severe concussion because this can only be a hallucination? The man standing with his arm wrapped around my waist must be at least six-four, and although he's wearing a hoodie, his corded arms are plain to seeand feel. He presses me close to his warm solid body and I feel dizzy, his presence is so overwhelming. His steely-gray eyes are the first thing I notice as they pin me in place with his stare. His nose is strong and sits perfectly with a smattering of light freckles across the bridge, almost like beauty spots. His high cheekbones are enviable, and as I move down further, I'm met with full, kissable lips.

The things I could do with that mouth. The things that mouth could do to me.

It's surely not legal to look that good. But then, he bloody smiles, andsweet baby Jesus,he has dimples for days.

Yep, I've definitely suffered a head injury.

JON

“Great practice, Morgan, you're looking in good shape.”

Yeah, if only I felt it.

But I'll take the rare compliment from Coach Burrows. He's a hard-ass, ex-pro player from the days when the NHL was even tougher than it is today. He rides us hard and isn't afraid to bench you on the first signs of weakness. He made me captain three seasons back when Jameson, our previous starting center, suffered a career-ending injury on the ice. A day etched into my memory forever. It's easy to take your time as a player for granted, and I'm lucky to have enjoyed a long and illustrious career with only a few light injuries and blows along the way.

“Thanks, Coach, I feel good.” White lies never hurt anyone.

Coach nods and swings the locker room door open, headed for his office. As I turn back to the bench, I pull out my phone and see the overdue reminder I set earlier. Shit. I forgot to pick up opening night tickets for Mom, Dad, and my brother, Adam. Granted, I could have them waiting at the stadium on game day, but I plan to drive home to Bellevue this weekend. Sure, my schedule is stacked over the next couple of weeks ahead of the season starting, but I want to see my parents, and I can't miss Adam's face when he sees the box tickets I got him.

Usually, my parents prefer to sit close to the ice. My dad, James, is an avid hockey fan and although I'm the only player in my family, he can't get enough of the NHL. His passion for it is part of the reason I started playing. We lived and breathed hockey when I was younger, and they always found the money to help me pursue my dreams. My mom, Jennie, would stay at home with Adam because we couldn't afford box seats, and quieter seats are the only option to safely get Adam to games.

Adam's autistic and has sensory processing disorders. His ear defenders do a lot to block out the noise, but sitting in a box means we can control his surroundings. Things haven’t always been easy for my parents; they’re the best a child could hope for, but earning mediocre wages, juggling two boys, and fighting for Adam's future, it's a lot to take on and there's no denying the impact it's had on them. Adam lives in his own place across town during the week and generally comes home on the weekends, and from time to time, I surprise him and my parents with tickets.

I take a left at the end of the hallway when a flash of green crosses my path. I slam on the brakes but it's too late; I'm bodychecking the tiny frame to the ground and practically fall on my own ass as a squeal reverberates off the walls.

Because I'm Jon Morgan and highly inappropriate, my first thought is how I'd like to hear that scream under different circumstances. My second thought as I maneuver the tiny frame the right way up and check she's okay is, yeah, I'd definitely like to hear that scream under different circumstances. Preferably involving a bed, her naked, and a whole different kind of body check.

Well, fuck me.

All I can see is green, two big pools of emerald to be exact, which match a cute jacket thrown over a flowing black summer dress, which has ridden higher than it should on impact. But hey, I’m not complaining. The view I get of her creamy thighs makes my dick twitch. She smells insane too; a wave of coconut overtakes my senses, not too strong, but sweet and addictive. I need to calm down, or I’ll find myself revealing far more than I should in this hallway. She's petite but oh so curvy in the right places. This woman clearly works out. I could feel her tight body tense against me as I held her to my side.

I want to hold her again. Now.

“Hey, whoa there, you okay?” Is all my floundering brain can manage as I reach down and hand her the tote she was carrying.

Placing it back on her shoulder, she tucks a silky chocolate wave behind her ear, and flushes, full-on flushes. If I wasn't so enamored, I would appreciate in more detail the way her eyes glide over my body, but all I can do is stare wildly at the woman in front of me.

“Sorry for uh...bashing into you. I uh, was rushing to grab my tickets and not looking where I was going.” Her first sentence to me is the most fumbled and disjointed string of words I think I've ever heard, yet somehow, I could listen to it on repeat. Her voice envelops me in warmth and comfort. Cheesy as it is, it feels like coming home.

Clearing my throat and trying to rekindle a modicum of self-control, I smile. “No problem, I was rushing, too. You picking up tickets?”

Of course she's picking up tickets, you dope, why else is she standing outside the box office?

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