Page 83 of Rinkmates

I bite my lip, planning to take it, but not before I, too, undress and give him the white shirt I wore. The grin dies and there’s thistic in his jaw again. It’s just one fucking second, but his eyes fly to my chest.

To the bra I’m wearing.

It’s not a lacy one. I don’t know if I could have pulled that off. I’m wearing a comfy white longline bra, but it’s enough for him to swallow hard, and I’m pleased with the look he gives my boobs. Just when I want to retort something funny, he pulls his jersey over me. Not gently at all. It’s like he’s doing everything he can to quickly cover me, and I feel like a child getting dressed after a tantrum.

Once I’m covered, he gives me a very angry peck on the cheek. “You’re here to bring me luck. Not a headache, babygirl.”

Then he’s gone, striding back toward the ice with a newfound spring in his step.

I sink back into my seat, my fingers tracing his number on my chest, a giddy smile tugging at my lips. But beneath the elation, a nagging realization lurks in the back of my mind, threatening to shatter my emotions from within.

Even though I did everything I could to avoid it, it’s time to admit it.

I have a crush on Riley Huntington.

Priya shoots me a giggly glance. “That. Was. So. Cute!”

I shove some popcorn in her mouth.

Twenty-five

LIORA

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s matchup between your hometown heroes, the Boston Bears, and the visiting team, the New York Falcons!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers as the Bears burst out of the tunnel, one by one, each greeted with thunderous applause.

My heart goes cannonballing as I watch the Falcons rush to the ice next. They are met with a mix of polite applause and boos from the home crowd, and I want to strangle each one of these idiots who booed at them. We stand up and howl like the wolves to support them.

When the lights dim once again, a spotlight shines on a lone singer on skates standing at center ice.

The crowd falls silent, a collective breath held in anticipation as she performs the national anthem. On the ice, the players from both teams line up along their respective blue lines, standing shoulder to shoulder. Helmets off, they hold them under their left arms, their heads bowed slightly.

The Falcons wear their dark blue and white jerseys and stand on the left side of the ice. Riley’s stance is so solid and confident.His eyes search mine. I smile at him and he smiles back. Next to him, his teammates stand tall, their eyes fixed on the flag hanging above the scoreboard.

As the final notes of the anthem ring out, the arena erupts in applause and cheers, and all the players replace their helmets and skate to their positions, ready for the face-off that will signal the start of the game.

The puck drops, and the game is on.

I lean forward in my seat, eyes glued to the ice as the Falcons and Bears swarm like bees around a hive. But where is he?

My gaze darts from jersey to jersey until finally I spot eighty-seven. He’s on the bench, his leg bouncing with pent-up energy as he watches his teammates battle for control.

Come on, Coach, put him in, I mentally will, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against my thigh.

The first period is a flurry, with both teams testing each other’s defenses. The home team strikes first, a wrist shot from the blue line finding the back of the net. Derek looks furious. The crowd erupts and the goal horn blares as fans leap to their feet. Priya and I make a face.

After what feels like an eternity, the line changes and Riley hops over the boards. He charges into the fray, his powerful strides practically eating up the ice. And you can say what you want, but the minute he touched down on the ice, the crowd turned electric.

Everyone knows it’s a whole different game when Riley’s out there.

Within seconds, Riley and Houston clash like gladiators. My stomach drops.Don’t blow it, Riley. Don’t blow it.They smash into the boards, jockeying for the puck in the corner. Houston leans in, his mouth moving rapidly as he no doubt tries to get a rise out of Riley.

Don’t take the bait, Ri. Don’t.

I chew my lip, knowing how important it is for him to keep his cool.

The camera pans to me and I school my concerned expression into one of composed support, even as my heart pangs against my rib cage. This game means everything. I need Riley to stay focused.

Houston cross-checks him and Riley stumbles. I let out a shriek and feel Priya’s hand on mine.

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