Page 28 of Snowed In With the PUCK

I lean my head down and kiss him like a ravenous woman, biting his lower lip and then kissing his neck. I can feel his pulse pounding. I can feel my own heart starting to slow down, the pleasure of my release giving me relief for now. I should regret what we just did. But I don’t.

Before either of us can say anything, a loud crash sounds from outside, startling us both. The wind howls, and I remember where we are—trapped in this house, in the middle of a snowstorm, with no one else around.

I stand up, breaking the spell. Eric jumps to his feet, grabbing at his pants, ready to fight if an intruder is nearby. I feel the cold air rush in where his body had been close to mine. He looks toward the window, then back at me, his expression torn.

“I should check on the power,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Make sure we don’t lose heat.”

I nod, still trying to catch my breath and my racing thoughts. “Yeah, good idea.”

He heads toward the basement, leaving me standing there. The sex we’ve had, the kisses, the touching, none of it was an act. Was it? It wasn’t for me, at least. But he and I haven’t talked about feelings, so I don’t know what it meant for him.

I pull my clothes on and glance up at the mistletoe, still haphazardly hanging above me, and shake my head. This whole thing—this fake relationship, this forced closeness—it’s startingto mess with me emotionally. And I don’t know if I can keep pretending that he doesn’t mean anything to me.

Eric returns a few minutes later, a grin on his face. “Power’s good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re safe for now.”

I smile, but it feels hollow.

But for now, I push my anxious thoughts aside. We’re stuck here together, and whatever this thing is between us, we’ll have to figure it out eventually. Right now, we just need to survive the storm.

Chapter thirteen

Eric

It’s game day, andI should be feeling focused. Dialed in. Ready to hit the ice and prove that I deserve to be here, that the trade to the Avalanche wasn’t a mistake. Instead, my mind’s been buzzing since I got that message from Kip, asking me to meet him in his office before the game.

I make my way through the arena, past the rows of framed jerseys and photos of past victories. The place is alive with energy—staff hurrying around, equipment managers prepping, the distant rumble of early fans filtering in—but there’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. I tell myself it’s the usual pre-game jitters, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.

When I get close to Kip’s office, I hear voices. At first, I think nothing of it. Kip’s always meeting with someone, and it’s probably just business. But then I hear a familiar voice. Jason.Jessica’s boss. I stop in my tracks just outside the door, the sound of their conversation drawing me in.

“…doing her job,” Jason says, his tone low and conspiratorial. “It’s what we agreed on. She’ll make sure everything stays under control with Warren. She’s… well, let’s just say she’s keeping a close eye on him.”

What the hell? I lean closer, heart pounding in my ears. They’re talking about me. And Jessica. My mind races, piecing together what little I’ve heard. “Doing her job”? “Keeping a close eye on me”? What the hell does that mean?

I feel the burn of suspicion crawl up my spine. Jessica and I are fake dating—that much is true. But that was for PR, for the team’s image. Wasn’t it? Why would Jason be talking to Kip about her like she’s working some kind of angle? My gut twists at the idea that Jessica’s involved in something I don’t fully understand, something that might be about me.

I step back, my chest tight, and swallow hard, trying to push down the anger bubbling up. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m jumping to. But the seeds of doubt are there, planting themselves deeper with every word I overheard. I don’t have time to dwell on it though, not right now. I need to keep my mind on tonight’s game.

I knock on Kip’s door, hard, and step inside before my thoughts get the better of me. Jason’s already on his feet, nodding to me as he scoots by me by the time I walk in. Kip looks up at me with a casual smile, like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“You ready for tonight?” Kip asks, leaning back in his chair. His tone is easy, but my muscles are still wound tight. I force a nod and we go over a few details about the game and the upcoming holiday events for the team. He doesn’t mention Jessica or Jason, and I don’t ask.

After the meeting, I head for the ice. It’s clear to me that the meeting Kip asked for was bogus. He just wanted to put eyes on me and hear it from me that I was keeping my nose clean. The smell of the rink hits me as I lace up my skates—cold, sharp, and familiar. I let it purge my mind. This is where I belong. Out here, everything makes sense. There’s no noise, no politics, no fake relationships. Just the game.

Once I’m out on the ice, the sound of my skates cutting into the surface gives me a feeling of control I haven’t felt all day. I look around at the guys on the team—my teammates, my bros on the ice. These are the only people I need to prove myself to, the ones who have my back when it counts. I nod to a few of them, signaling it’s time to start drills. If I’m going to lead my line as one of the forwards for the Avalanche, I need to show them I’m all in.

“Alright, boys,” I shout as I move to the center, getting everyone’s attention who is on my line. “We’ve got a big game tonight. Let’s leave everything we’ve got out here today. No holding back. We play fast, we play smart, and we win.”

They respond with a mix of grins and nods. The team captain, who is nominated by the coach to be the go-to guy on the ice, echoes the sentiment to us all. Everyone’s hyped, ready to push themselves for the night ahead. I motion to my guys on my lineto start skating, watching as they tear down the rink. They’ve got speed, but they need to clean up the passes.

“C’mon, work those passes, tighter!” I shout, skating alongside them. “Keep your heads up, look for the play!”

It’s like a switch flips when I’m on the ice. All the doubts, all the shit running through my mind—it fades. This is my space, my sanctuary. I push the team hard, moving from player to player, correcting angles, shouting encouragement, calling out plays. It feels good to take control, to be the one driving them forward.

We practice for nearly two hours, running through play after play, fine-tuning the moves we’ve been working on for the past few weeks. This game tonight isn’t just another game. It’s part of a trio of holiday matches, and we’ve got to come out strong. We’ve been on a roll, but there’s no room for complacency.

I lead a fast break, cutting through the defense, faking left, and sending a perfect pass to one of our defensemen, Jan, who slaps it in for a goal. The sound of the puck hitting the net gives me a rush. That’s how we’re going to play tonight. Fast, aggressive, and relentless.

“Hell yeah!” Jan shouts, skating over to give me a fist bump. “We’re gonna kill it tonight.”

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