Page 24 of Hat Trick

Not that Marshall hasn’t tried. The man has already scored twice: once by jockeying the puck around the net before sailing it into the corner pocket; the other time when Lady Luck shined down upon him as the puck hit the pipes and then rebounded into the net behind the goalie’s rightshoulder.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit to it but seeing Marshall in his element is damn sexy. Whenever the camera zooms in on him, I alternate between staring at his sweaty face, loving the determined look in his eyes, and also scoping out the way he handles hisstick.

Foreshadowing, if you will. I have a feeling he’s packing below the belt in the best waypossible.

Someone taps me on my shoulder, and I turn to find Zoe staring at me with a shit-eating grin on herface.

Ahem.

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Sorry about that . . . Just, you know, got carriedaway.”

She maintains hersilence.

I hold open my arms. “I loveyou?”

Charlie leans around Zoe, a cheese-covered nacho halfway to her mouth. “If Zoe doesn’t love you back for dissing her man, I’ll love you forher.”

Have you ever heard of a heart sighing? My mom used to tell me that when I was a kid, generally in reference to her husbands. But for me, it’s the support from my two friends—even if I did totally just “diss” Zoe’s fiancé. In my defense, it was a crappy move that gave the Penguins an upper hand with a powerplay.

“Oh, I’ll love her,” Zoe shouts over the din of the crowd, “but not until she comes forward and confesses. I want to know what’s going on with her andHunt.”

My cheeks warm, and I immediately reach forward to snatch a nacho from Charlie’s seemingly endless supply. “It’s good,” I mutter, popping the chip into my mouth and rearranging my Blades ball cap on my head. “Youknow.”

“We don’t know.” Zoe bumps her hip with mine. “Spill, girl. This is more fun than binge-watchingVanderpump Rulesfor an entirenight.”

“Now that’s a lie,” Charlie says. Her gaze tracks the players, and I know she’s dying to be down near the ice, as close to the game as possible. For the sake of friendship, however, she promised to leave both her audio recorder and notebook athome.

One glance at Charlie’s antsy sway back and forth, especially with every slapshot that flies at the Blades’ net (and therefore at her boyfriend), and it’s clear she’s itching to write tonight’s game into an epic article forThe BostonGlobe.

“Did you kiss?” Zoe asks, going in for the kill withoutpreamble.

“No.” I bite my lip, trying to decide if it’s best to come out with the truth—that Marshall has no plans to fulfill the promise in his heated gaze until he knows that he can trust me. Letting out a sigh, I slip my fingers into the butt pockets of my jeans and avert my gaze to the ice, where Marshall has just won the puck in the face-off. “He wants to know that I’m not going to, I don’t know, screw himover.”

“Before he kissesyou?”

Though I keep my eyes locked on Marshall, I nod at Zoe’s question. “As we all know, my track record isn’t full of unicorns and rainbows. I don’t blame him for wanting to be sure I’m allin.”

“And you do? Want to be all in, thatis?”

How can I explain that last night, despite the fact that we’d done nothing but stroll together along the harbor, was one of the best nights that I’ve had in a good, long while? Forget that. How can I explain that I’ve been so shortsighted all theseyears?

“He’s a good guy,” I finally say, though the words are woefully inadequate to explain how I’m feeling. Which is probably sixty-percent excited and forty-percentwhat-the-hell-am-I-doing?

The latter exists only because I’ve never been in this positionbefore.

I’ve never allowed myself to consider the prospect ofmorewith anyone, least of all not with a hotshot athlete likeMarshall.

“C’mon,” Charlie says, holding out another chip coated with cheese, “open up and I’ll give you a nacho. Yes, it’s bribery. I’m fullyaware.”

Bribery among friends. I almost want to laugh. Instead, I watch as Marshall avoids being slammed into the boards down on the ice. His number, 22, flashes on his jersey as he turns away, shoulders pulled low. The Penguins’ enforcer comes barreling toward him, but Marshall is quick—the quickest player on the ice—and the next thing that I know, he’s skating down the length of the rink. His stick swings back and then sails down as he sends the puck skidding toward Jackson Carter, the Blades’ captain and the team’s rightwing.

One push off Carter’s skates, and then another and another. Helmet ducked, black gloves clenched around his stick, the Jumbotron shows Jackson Carter hauling ass toward the Penguins’net.

But then the playcrumbles.

The Penguins’ D-men swoop in, an intimidating force that drives Carter into theboards.

My heart leaps. The arena erupts into jeers and cheers and enthusiastic chanting for bothteams.

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