Page 26 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“What?” I ask, her words not making any sense.

She shrugs. “The hockey team has practice today. If you want to give the book back to him, you could catch him as he leaves the ice.”

“That’s…a good thought.” I don’t ask how she knows the hockey team’s schedule. Sometimes it’s better not to know. “Any idea what time they finish?”

TYLER

I stride into the changing room, inhaling the familiar aroma of cold sweat and menthol. Hockey gear has a distinctive scent that comes from working up a sweat in such a cold environment, and then never drying properly. The only thing I can compare it to is damp socks that have been worn for a couple of days straight.

It’s nasty, but it also reminds me of one of my favorite things in the world, so I don’t hate it.

Half the team are already undressed or in the showers. I sit and remove my skates before stripping off my gear. I wrap a towel around my waist and I’m heading for the showers when Ruiz, one of the second-line wingers, calls out to me.

“Kinsey!”

I turn toward him. “What?”

“I’m going to visit my girlfriend after I’m dressed,” he says.

“Good for you.” Why does he think he needs to share this with me?

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “She has a super-hot roommate. I’m a happily taken, man, but this girl is fire. Why don’t you come and meet her?”

Ah. There it goes. These guys seem to have made a game out of trying to hook me up.

“Not interested.” I turn away and enter one of the shower cubicles, slinging the towel over the divider between my shower and the next one over.

“You never get any action!” Ruiz yells from behind me. “Your balls are going to shrivel up and die, man. Do them a favor.”

A few of the guys laugh. Someone whistles.

Calmly, I shout back, “There’s only one woman I’m interested in.”

There’s an explosion of whispers in the locker room. Until now, I’ve been tight-lipped about my intentions, but perhaps that isn’t the best way to go. I crank the shower on, tuning them out, and quickly wash, then shut it off again.

As I’m drying, a voice rises above the others again. “Is it that girl you were with the other day?”

I scowl and push the cubicle door open. Matthews, the guy who witnessed Echo shooting me down, has joined the others and is looking my way. I narrow my eyes at him, then sweep my gaze around all the horny fuckers who might find it funny to get in my way.

“Yeah. Echo. And if any of you even look at her sideways, I’ll make you regret it.”

None of them deserve her. I don’t either, but I don’t care. She’s mine, and that’s all there is to it.

“Calm the fuck down, Kinsey,” Ruiz says.

I ignore him. “She’s off-limits.”

None of them reply. Perhaps they’re all too busy wondering if I’m secretly psychotic. After a long minute, Matthews strikes up a conversation with our captain, Anaheim, about the first game of the season. Gradually, the murmur of voices returns. I dress, sling my duffel bag over my shoulder, and leave without saying goodbye.

As I exit the arena, the cool breeze sends goosebumps skittering over the exposed skin of my face. My mind travels to Echo. Has she found my gift? Does she like it? Even if it only softens her toward me a tiny bit, I’ll take the win.

A handful of cars are dotted around the parking lot. I hurry past the glass-paneled stadium walls toward my vehicle, a black Audi in last year’s model. I’m halfway there when movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

I glance over my shoulder. Echo is beelining across the concrete, her gaze locked on me. She’s carrying the book I sent her, and resting on top of it is the jewelry box containing the shooting star necklace.

“What are you doing?” she demands, her eyes sparking with fury.

I frown. That’s not quite the reaction I’ve been hoping for.

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