Page 90 of Face Me Off

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Maddy says.

“You’ve missed two periods.” Andrew’s condescending tone earned him a pillow upside the head from Blake.

“Easy,” Blake warns.

“That’s my fault,” Amanda says. “I couldn’t get away. One of the machines in the lab went down, and it took forever to recalibrate it.”

“You’re here now,” Blake says. Amanda’s gaze lands on him, andphew, that look says it all. He’ll definitely get lucky tonight.

Maddy weaves her way toward me. Once she’s close, I grab her arm and pull her onto my lap. She plops down, laughing. I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck. Strawberries fill my senses. Speaking of luck, I’ve got my charm right here.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly. “How’s the game going?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

She nudges my side. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Sorenson.”

“Flattery gets me everywhere.”

She shakes her head but settles into me. “They’re losing?”

“Yeah. Colorado’s putting up a fight, but they’re not invincible.” My hands drop to her upper thighs and rest there.

“Well, I hope you boys are taking notes. Gotta step up your game next season.” Amanda’s tone is playful.

Laughter ripples through the group, and I can’t help but join in.

“We’ll be there. We were just out-maneuvered this year. Won’t happen next year,” Blake says.

“Our last year will be the best,” Andrew chimes in.

“Go out with a bang,” Jonas adds.

“Speaking of bangs, any word from the Scouting Bureau?” Andrew raises an eyebrow at me.

“Not yet. I’m pretty sure they will wait until the Frozen Four concludes.”

“Which will be in about ten minutes.” This comes from Easton.

Drew’s reference to the NHL Central Scouting Bureau douses my high. They pick the people most likely to be drafted to the combine, and the invites are due out any day. What started as a pipe dream became a possible reality only shortly after the first of the year. Madison’s dad offered a sum too large to pass up. Talk about a weight lifted off my shoulders. Dad can now get the home care he desperately needs. It’s a relief I can barely put into words.

But it opened up a path I desperately wanted.

My hand moves farther up Madison’s thigh. As much as I want to see the game through, I also can’t wait to get her alone.

The game progresses, and the tension in the room escalates with every play. Colorado’s offense is relentless, their skates carving up the ice as they push deeper into enemy territory. The Massachusetts team’s defensive line struggles to keep up while the tension in the room builds.

“Come on, defense! Tighten up!” Andrew shouts.

My hands stilled. Eyes glued to the screen. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion—you know it will be brutal, but you can’t look away.

And then, it happens.

Colorado’s forward slips past the defense, dekes the goalie, and buries the puck in the back of the net.

The room erupts in a chorus of groans and expletives. I feel it, too, that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. It’s a feeling I know all too well—the bitter taste of watching your rivals gain the upper hand.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, my fingers pressing into Maddy’s skin.

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