Page 71 of Power Play

“I am, but nothing is set in stone. Besides…” I glance at Drake, who’s talking to Coach. “Layla only comes to home games.”

A mischievous smile lights up his face. “And how do you feel about the jersey she’s wearing?”

“It’s the wrong one.”

Colt laughs. “You and Roman have way more in common than I initially thought. Jealous assholes.” His laughter quickly dies, and he becomes serious in an instant when Coach starts talking about the plan for the third period.

We all definitely want to win.

When the third period started,it felt like the Thunders came back revitalized, both from the goal Colton scored at the end of the second period and from the pep talk Coach gave us in the locker room.

We were playing from the right end, doing well in the defensive zone and putting the pressure on Vegas. It was great to watch, especially with Dale securing the net every time our opponent tried to score.

Drake passes the puck to Crawford, who speeds toward Vegas’s net. Excitement courses through me, and I jump to my feet and watch with the whole arena to see if he’s going to score. With a perfect slap shot, Dean sends the puck flying right into Vegas’s net. Yes! Three to two; we’re fucking winning.

But the joy I feel disappears almost immediately when Vegas challenges for offside, and after a video review, the goal gets overturned when it’s determined that Drake entered the zone before the puck, five seconds prior to Dean scoring. We’re back to two to two, dammit.

The game goes on, and I stand still, refusing to sit down for even a moment. The intensity of the third period gets the best of me. Dale makes a key right-pad save on a Vegas shot from the right circle. He’s good—really good—and I admire his determination. He’s also nice, not an asshole who tries to rub it in my face that I’m not the starter. I respect him a lot.

Two minutes before the third period ends, things change drastically. Järvinen from the Vegas team scores again, going around Roman and tucking the puck around Dale’s right pad. It makes the score three to two.

And unfortunately, no matter how much our team tries to come back and tie the game again, it’s useless. Vegas’s third goal unsettled our team and made them restless.

When the game ends, “3–2” is displayed on the jumbotron, and defeat makes my shoulders slump. The first game of the regular season…the first home game…and we lost. It’s not the result we wanted.

And it fucking makes me mad.

I’mone of the first players to leave the arena even despite me taking a moment to introduce Dylan to Dean Crawford. With how his eyes sparkled appreciatively when he shook her hand, I knew I made the right decision. Hopefully something good will come out of it. Dylan is a nice girl, and I’d be happy if she’d have a chance for her own hockey romance—only the real one.

When I walk toward my car, I immediately notice Layla. She’s leaning on my G-Wagon in a leather jacket that covers the jersey she’s wearing and dark blue jeans with white sneakers. Her eyes are on me, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. I smile, speeding up my steps. I don’t know where Maya is, but I do know we don’t have much time. Everyone from the team will be out here soon.

And yet, my soul is fucking singing with the realization that she came here to see me.

“I see you got your car back,” she says.

“I did. Dominic dropped it off last week,” I confirm, then tilt my head. “Hey, Layla.”

“Hi, Clay,” she greets me as I stop in front of her. I curl my arm around her waist and pull her to my chest, my eyes searching hers. “Sorry you lost.”

I nod. My gaze is fixed on her full mouth.

“Sorry you didn’t get to play.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, my mouth hovering over hers. “You’re here, and that feels like winning.”

“I can’t stay long,” she confesses, standing on her tiptoes. Her lips are an inch away from mine. “Angie is looking after Maya.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

Layla nods.

“Will she tell Drake?”

“No, but she asked me not to make her lie to him again.”

“That’s fair.” My hand slides down her round ass, and I almost moan from how good she feels in my arms. It doesn’t help that I’ve spent these last two weeks fantasizing about her in my bed, remembering all the times we secretly met after our breakup. I’m dying to feel her tight little pussy clenching around my dick. It’s all I think about lately.

“I missed you. These FaceTimes and texts aren’t enough.”

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