Page 42 of Icy Pucking Play

"That's for work."

"Is that why you were kissing her in the kitchen?"

This time I did choke. "You...what?"

"I came down for water last night. You looked happy." She'd shrugged, going back to her cereal. "I like when you're happy, Dad."

“Um, Evan?” Sophie's voice breaks through the memory.

I cough lightly. “Yeah?”

“Uh oh. It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“What? What’s happening?”

"That brooding-goalie athlete voodoo magic where you get lost in your head." She sets down her notebook. "Want to clue the rest of the class in? Or…”

I can’t say the answer I want to. The “fuck no” that’s on the tip of my tongue.

Because there’s no way to adequately convey that she has completely upended my carefully ordered world. That she makes me want things I'd sworn off years ago.

That she scares the hell out of me because she makes me feel safe.

"My glove side is fine," I say instead.

She gives me a look that says she knows I'm deflecting but will let it slide. For now.

That's another thing about Sophie—she knows when to push and when to back off. It's what makes her such a good reporter.

It's what makes her so dangerous to my peace of mind.

"Uncle Evan's just distracted," Ryland pipes up, grinning. "Wonder why?"

I shoot him a look that would make most players skate away quickly. He just laughs.

Because apparently, kissing Sophie Bennett once (okay, maybe more than once) in my kitchen has completely destroyed my intimidation factor.

"You're thinking too loud," Sophie had murmured against my lips last night, her fingers tangled in my shirt.

"Am not."

"Are too. I can practically hear you analyzing angles and trajectories."

"I do not…"

"Evan." She'd pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "Stop overthinking and kiss me again."

"Again," I tell Ryland, resetting my stance. "And this time, no commentary from the peanut gallery."

Sophie makes a show of zipping her lips, but her eyes are dancing with amusement. She's wearing another one of those oversized Blades hoodies—this one definitely stolen from my locker during her internship days—and somehow managing to make practice gear look good.

Not that I'm noticing.

Much.

The next shot comes in hard, and this time I snag it clean.

"Better," Sophie says approvingly. "See what happens when you focus?"

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