Page 80 of Tempting

The buzzer rings, signaling the end of warm-up. “You look fucking hot, baby. I want you in this and absolutely nothing else when I get home tonight.”

Her beautiful face softens, and she touches my cheek. “Pretty sure I can make that happen. Now go win me a game, Sinclair.”

I watch her walk away with the girls and stare until Easton pushes me ahead of him. “We’re gonna fucking talk about this tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, man.” I skate away, knowing I got the girl. Now I gotta win the game. Shouldn’t be too hard.

Turns out, it wasn’t that hard.

Chicago has been turning over the puck all night. Easy pickings. Like right now. Their center just cleared the puck, and the dumb fuck is taking it right up the middle.

Like I said. Easy pickings.

Cross slams into him, and the puck goes wide.

Ares takes control and passes to Leo. Leo dodges Hendrix and crosses it to me.

Yeah . . . Sorry, baby brother.

I circle the net, looking for my shot. And, oh yeah. There it is.

Upper right-hand corner. Fucking beautiful.

My team swarms, congratulating me on the goal and celebrating the lead that just closed out the game, 4–2. The Revolution wins. The stands are going wild as everyone tosses hats onto the ice. I look up into the stands, searching for the box Mac is watching in, and there she fucking is—my girl, in my jersey, with my family, screaming her lungs out.

Mine.

Fuck the rest of the world.

Fuck what they think or expect.

This is it.

This is what I want.

Her. This team. This town. This family. But it all starts and stops with her, and it’s about time she hears it.

We line up to shake the other team’s hand, and I take an extra second to smack Hendrix’s helmet. “Good game, little brother.”

“Nice hat trick, Nix. You showing off for your girl?”

“You’re fucking right I am. You flying home tonight?”

Cross smacks the top of Hen’s helmet too, then ushers me along. “Let’s go, Sinclair.”

“Go,” Hendrix says. “We’re flying out tonight. I’ll see you at Christmas.”

“See ya, Hen,” I tell him before turning to leave.

“Hey, Nix,” he calls out. “You’re girl’s a fucking smoke show. You outkicked your coverage, man.” He skates off before I can kick his ass, and I laugh. Always the little shit-stirrer. Not wrong though. Mackenzie Hayes is out of my league.

She’s her own league.

“Thought it was fake,” Easton growls again as we skate off the ice together.

“I’m not doing this here, man,” I tell him, not willing to have this fight tonight.

Tonight, I want to go home and show my girl how much it meant to have her here and why it’s better to live in the moment than in fear of the other shoe dropping.

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