Page 49 of Stick Handled

“Okay.” She sits back, hands clasped together like she’s about to start a sermon. “You snuck out of your room through the window because Damien curled his finger. And you spent the night at his house.”

I nod, cheeks flaming. “Yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”

“And he popped your cherry? He gave you his hockey stick?”

“Oh my god,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Why are you acting shy?” She leans back, clearly loving this way more than I do. “You had your first time with ahockey god. You’re basically in the top tier of all first-time experiences. Like, who even gets that?” She raises a brow and leans in, eyes glittering with curiosity. “So?”

“What?” I shrug.

She rolls her eyes. “So, how was he? If the stories are true, I’m not sure how you’re not at home with an ice pack between your legs right now. How big was he?”

“Sarah!” I feel my face get hotter, and I can’t even look at her.

“Spit it out, girl.” She grins like she knows she’s got me cornered. “Was he this big?” She holds out her hands about six inches apart. I giggle and shake my head. She pulls them further apart with a raised brow.

“Put your hands away,” I plead as she stares at the space between her hands.

“Then tell me,” she insists, dropping her hands down.

“He was…” I bite my lip at the memories flooding my mind. I couldn’t describe it with a single word to save my life.

“He absolutely rocked your world, didn’t he?” Sarah giggles. “I bet it was intense.”

“Yeah.” I lick my ice cream, preventing it from dripping on my hand. “But he wasn’t all rough or anything. He was…” My voice trails off again. No, no words can describe what Damien did to me last night.

“Oh, he made sure you felt everything, didn’t he?” She’s practically bouncing in her seat now, grinning wide.

“I—oh my god,” I stammer. “Sarah, please stop!”

“At least tell me it was good.” She’s practically glowing now, loving every second of this.

“Good? It was mind-blowing. I didn’t even know I could feel all that,” I admit truthfully.

Sarah leans back, her grin only getting wider. “You’ve officially bagged yourself an NHL hockey player. Oh my god, you should totally wear his jersey to the next game. Like one of those trophy hockey wives.”

I nudge her playfully, trying not to think about how much I want to wear his jersey.

“Well, I’m wearing his T-shirt. That’s close enough, right?” I grin back. Sarah’s eyes go from the shirt and back to me before she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, I love this,” she says with a little too much satisfaction.

My phone chimes, stealing my attention. I look down at a text from Rowan. I’d texted him earlier, telling him I was at the beach and asking if he could pick me up.

Rowan:Practice is taking longer today. Meet me at the rink. We’ll head home from there.

Of course, the rink. Right where Damien is. The idea of being in the same place as him, especially after last night, makes my heart race a little faster.

But I take a deep breath, send a reply, and try to ignore the flutter in my stomach.

“I guess I’m seeing him sooner than I thought,” I sigh, looking at Sarah.

I step into the rink, instantly hit by the chill of the air. The sound of blades slicing through ice is sharp and familiar, and it almost distracts me from the nerves buzzing at the back of my mind. But that’s only for a second. Because the next moment, I see them.

Damien, Rowan, Ares, and their teammates. They're all in full gear, moving like a storm. I spot the number 13 on Damien’s jersey written in bold black letters traced in yellow.

He’s on the ice like a predator, his massive frame cutting through the chaos with terrifying, controlled aggression. He’s a blur of black and gold, his team colors, slamming into his teammates with a force that makes me flinch, even from the stands. When he checks a guy into the boards, I can feel it all the way up here. The crack of bone against the unforgiving ice. It’s like he owns the rink, and everyone else is just playing along.

---