Page 14 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

"Lauren, who's your friend?" she asks.

"This is Holly. I told you she was coming," Lauren replies. "Holly, this is my sister, Mia. She owns this place."

I smile at Mia, trying to hide my exhaustion. "Your café is beautiful," I mutter sincerely.

Mia blushes. "Thank you. We're still working on it."

"You should be proud," I tell her. "It's really cozy."

“That’s high praise, sis,” Lauren grins at Mia. "Oh, just so you know, she’s a decor expert."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up."

Mia laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the room. "I have to get back to work," she says, apologetically. "One of my staff moved her shift to later, so I'm a bit short-handed."

"I understand," I nod. "Good luck."

As she walks away, Lauren turns to me. "She's amazing, isn't she?"

I nod. "Definitely. And she's got a great thing going here."

Lauren smiles. “Let’s get back to you.”

I roll my eyes. I can't help but feel very frustrated with Ethan. He's become this looming presence of constant stress over the past few days.

"I just don't understand why he has to be such a jerk," I say, exasperated.

Lauren shrugs. "He's just going through a tough time."

"Or maybe he's just a jerk," I retort.

Lauren and I switch the topic to her job; we talk for a while longer, and by the time we're finished, I feel a little better. It's good to have someone to talk to, someone who understands.

As we're about to leave, Lauren asks if I want to go to the game with her and Mia later this week. I hesitate. I don't really want to see Ethan in that environment. But then I think about it. Maybe it's time to see what makes him so proud.

"Sure," I say finally.

Lauren smiles. "Great! I'll get your ticket."

As we walk out of the café, I feel a strange mix of excitement and dread. Seeing Ethan in his element might be exactly what I need to put things into perspective.

Three days later,I’m sitting in an arena filled with noise and bodies swaying to the rhythm of the game. I'm perched in the director's box, with a bird’s eye view of the chaos below. The energy of the fans is infectious, and I find myself drawn into the frenzy.

The crowd erupts as the players skate onto the ice, and I spot Ethan immediately. He stands out, not just because of his skill but because of the way he carries himself—like he owns the rink. Fans around me start chattering excitedly, fawning over how good and handsome he is. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the comments.

“He’s so dreamy,” a woman behind me gushes. “And such a phenomenal player!”

“Yeah, right,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes narrowing as I watch Ethan glide effortlessly across the ice. I find myself rooting for the defenders going against him, hoping someone knocks him down a peg. But as the game progresses, my annoyance shifts to grudging admiration. The man is undeniably talented.

The first period is intense, with both teams fighting hard. Ethan comes up clutch, weaving through defenders and setting up a perfect shot that sails past the goalie. The arena explodes with cheers, and despite myself, I feel a thrill of excitement.

The second period is even tougher. Ethan takes a hard hit and goes down. My heart lurches, and I lean forward, holding my breath. When he gets back up, I let out a sigh of relief, telling myself it’s only because an injured Ethan would be even more unbearable to live with. But deep down, I know there’s more to it.

The final period is nail-biting. The score is tied, and the tension is palpable. With just seconds left on the clock, Ethan makes a daring play, maneuvering past the defense and firing the puck into the net. The goal horn blares, and the crowd leaps to their feet, roaring in celebration. I find myself standing with them, clapping and cheering.

Damn it, he’s good.

As the crowd begins to disperse, I stay in my seat, watching the players celebrate. Ethan stands on the edge of thecelebrations, looking isolated. There's a sadness in his stance that worries me.

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