Page 82 of Pinkie Promise

I glance over to her, hearts in my eyes. “You’re a genius,” I tell her.

She pats delicately at her soft pink blow-out. “It has been said.”

Fifteen minutes later the coach is pulling up at Larch Peak University’s D1 hockey rink and the second that my feet hit the ground the players’ coach is pulling up right next to ours.

The door slides open and the guys begin to slowly dismount, eyeing us casually as they saunter to grab their gear from theside compartment. As soon as Hunter muscles his shoulders out of the doorway his eyes find mine and a smile tugs at his lips.

My jaw drops to the floor when I see what he’s wearing.

He quickly grabs his gear from the pile-up and then he’s leading me around to the side of the bus so that he can kiss me without his teammates watching.

“You’re wearing a suit,” I whimper, as he tugs my body up against his. His pecs are so big that the buttons of his shirt are literally straining.

“Yeah,” he grunts, kissing at my mouth. “Protocol.”

Before I can tell him that he’s the hottest man I have ever seen, he grips one hand at the back of my neck and leashes his fingers through my hair, angling me so that he can kiss me deeper. I moan quietly as he slips his tongue around mine, and he uses his other hand to stuff something into my palm.

I pull away panting so that I can look down at it.

It’s a bag of Jelly Babies.

Hunter’s molten eyes meet mine and I instantly know what he’s thinking about – us at the movies, Jelly Babies spilling all over my lap.

Suddenly my face is on fire.

“There’s a couple of hours before the game starts,” Hunter states, his voice gravel rough as his eyes rake me up and down. “Get those down your neck.”

My eyes go wide, my skin aflame, and I realise that this is a side of Hunter that I haven’t seen before. He’s in full-on game-day mode.

It’s so intimidating that I can barely breathe.

“Okay,” I say breathlessly, tucking them into my bag for safe-keeping.

I feel his large palm stroke at my ponytail, making my cheeks burn even hotter.

“Nice bow,” he grunts, eyes on the cheer bow in my hair.

“I wanted to support,” I say back to him, feeling a little self-conscious. It’s in Carter U’s colours to match the team’s hockey gear.

He flashes me a satisfied smirk, which makes my belly pound and flip.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I want these Larch Peak fuckers to know exactly who you’re supporting.”

His hand tightens around my ponytail before he smoothes his palm down the length of it. Our gazes lock together, and heat licks in my abdomen.

Seeing Hunter in his suit for the first time – a tradition for Division I athletes at Carter U when they’re doing tournaments like this – reminds me that, while I’m no longer doing sport competitively, Hunter is, and this game could be a really big deal for him.

I know that he’s intending to go pro when he graduates and I’m guessing that the higher Carter U ranks in the college league the better his potential NHL team will be. He’s already the captain at a Division I college which clearly proves how powerful he is, but the sight of him and his team looking like they’re going into battle is enough motivation for me to give him as much support as possible.

And right now he looks every bit the bad boy hockey player that girls love to assume he is.

But I’ve spent three years being the good girl cheerleader, and now is the perfect time to put it to use.

Hunter spent our entire last semester supporting me, and it’s time to return the favour.

I stand up on my tip-toes, wrap my arms around his neck, and his expression immediately softens into a contented boyish smirk. I press a little kiss to his sharp tan cheekbone before leaning further up so that I can whisper in his ear.

“Is now a good time to tell you that I brought my pom-poms?” I ask teasingly.

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