Page 16 of Perfect Boy

Watson

Isilently give myself a pep talk. We’re in the final period of our opening game, leading by just one goal. And with one period left…now is not the time to fuck up.

As much as I love being goalie and even though I know I’d never want to play anywhere else on the ice, sometimes, the pressure of playing such a crucial position really gets to me. One miscalculation, and I can blow it for my team. The entire time the clock is running, I have to pay attention to where the puck is. And sometimes, it’s mentally taxing. And I won’t even mention how hard the position is on my damn body. But I train excessively and do whatever I need to do to keep my body uninjured. And I try to keep myself in tip-top shape. My team deserves the best, and so that’s what I try to be.

Besides, at any given time, the New York Rangers could pull my spot if they decide I’m not worthy. When they came to me fresh out of high school, we each had some stipulations. On my end, even though they wanted me right then, I wanted to graduate college for my mother. They allowed it, but they made it clear they only wanted me if I was still in perfect condition once I got my degree. Some people think I’m nuts for not going from high school to pro when given the chance, but the truth is, I knew I wasn’t ready. I needed this time at Brooks to work with someone like Coach LaConte to prepare myself for what’s to come. That way, when it comes time for me to step into those bright lights and wear that Rangers jersey, I’ll be the best I can be. And in my eyes, risking an injury is just a small price to pay for that.

My time at Brooks has given me what I need. Last year, I got to be the main goalie while Cam Hardy was our team captain and leading center. Watching Cam on the ice is a lot like watching Michael Jordan on the court. It’s art. It’s mesmerizing.

It’s no wonder he’s now the starting center for the Bruins. Dude’s out of this world in the raw talent department.

The puck goes into play, and I prepare myself to go to war to stop it from getting past me. Within seconds, bodies are heading right toward me. It’s a fucking balancing act, staying calm while also having adrenaline rushing through your body, making you feel like you’re floating. My heart races, and my head is soaked with sweat. I’m fatigued while being wound up, all at the same time. My team has played their hearts out. I’m not about to lose it for them now.

When I see a maroon jersey getting closer, the player keeping control of the puck and moving at the speed of a goddamn cheetah, I make myself larger, hyperaware of his every move. And when he gets close enough to try to slap-shot it past me, I slide my knees together, stopping the puck before it can get into my goal.

Cheers erupt, and my heart is beating so fast that it might literally give me a heart attack. No matter how many times I do this, it always feels the same. And I always feel the same. Fucking relieved to stop another goal.

The game isn’t over yet though. So, as much as I’d love to bask in my save, it’s not the time. Because after a few more of those, that one will be long forgotten, just like the others.

Ryann

I can’t believe I’m here, watching a damn hockey game. And somehow, I’m not even bored to death. But I won’t tell Sutton that. If I do, she won’t let me live it down. She’d probably call me a puck bunny. Which I am not. At all.

I’m beginning to see that maybe I had Watson pegged wrong. Perhaps he isn’t just like every other male I assumed him to be. He isn’t my ex, and last week was proof of that. Either way, watching him defend the goal isn’t just impressive. It’s kind of hot. I mean, shit, if he can move like that to stop a goal, what can he do in bed?

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

I don’t need to hook up with a charming jock. I don’t need to fall into bed with anyone. No more trying to fill that deep void inside of me with men. I tried that; it didn’t work. Oh, how I tried. One pregnancy scare—which, thank God, was a false alarm—and a long, hard look in the mirror later, I realized happiness wasn’t going to come from getting railed ten ways to Sunday. Orgasms weren’t like a magic wand that could fix me. In fact, being…friendly…was only making me feel worse.

I craved that feeling you get when someone is close to you. When you feel their body against your own and their heart beating against your chest.

I wanted that so bad. I wanted to quiet the voices in my head telling me I was a girl going nowhere. That I’d made the wrong choice by forging my way into the United States. That I was an awful person for leaving my sister when she needed me so badly. That no one would ever love me because if my mother couldn’t love me, who the hell would?

If I hadn’t sworn off jocks and romantic relationships altogether…Watson would definitely have a chance. If he wanted it, that is. He just doesn’t seem like all the other men I’ve come to hate. He’s…kinder.

“Earth to Ryann,” Sutton says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Come back from outer space and join us, would you?”

Glancing at her, I shrug. “Sorry. I was thinking about a paper I have due next week. Got sidetracked.” I bump my shoulder against hers and look back at the ice. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, you seem to be spending a lot of time staring at Watson Gentry for someone who claims to hate having him as her dance partner.” She elbows my side playfully. “Don’t think I missed the look on your face when he was doing those provocative little goalie stretches. You know, the ones where he pretty much fucks the ice.”

I shoot her a glare. One that hopefully says she’s crazy and to shut her filthy mouth.

“I was not staring. And if I was, it was because I was thinking how fucking awkward his stretches are,” I deadpan, knowing I don’t sound one bit convincing. “What would I possibly find hot about that?” I wave toward Watson. “Exactly. Nothing.”

“Mmhmm,” she drawls slowly. “Whatever. You. Say.”

I roll my eyes, but the truth is, when he had his legs downward on that ice, rocking his hips to stretch himself out…

Well, I had thoughts running through my head. Dirty. Stupid. Sexy. Thoughts. Of me, underneath him…

Naked.

I dance with a few of the girls from the dance team at Club 83. After the game, Sutton said she needed to stay at the arena a little later to do something. Which I think really meant she secretly wanted to wait and see Hunter, her dance partner, who she is clearly low-key falling for. So, I decided to head here, where the party is, and blow off some steam by shaking my ass and loosening up.

I’m sweaty and hot. But I’m having an absolute blast as Lana, Poppy, a few others, and I all pretend that we don’t know we’re causing a scene with the seductive way we’re dancing to “Greedy” by Tate McRae.

I throw my head back, letting my strawberry-blonde hair be a mess and not giving a shit who is or isn’t watching me. I’m having fun. Who cares about how ridiculous I probably look?

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