Page 52 of Their Obsession

Nine.

Eight.

Their left wing takes a shot. It goes wide, hitting the boards and bouncing off. Noah swipes out in an attempt to grab the puck but he misses it. The Kings have control of the puck again.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

They shoot again. This time their aim is perfect, but so is our goalie. Salazar shoots his pad out, blocking the shot.

Three.

Two.

One.

“The Raging Russian is loose!” the announcer shouts as Dom shoots from the box.

I fucking hate that nickname. It’s insulting. Dmitri Volkkon has dual citizenship. He’s been an American for more than half his life. He’s not some feral beast from the Siberian wilderness. He’s a real estate investor, for fuck’s sake. But let them think he’s wild, untamed, unhinged. I’ll keep the real him to myself. I have no intention of sharing either of my men with anyone outside of our little threesome. Even the puck bunnies online make me see red still sometimes. But I know I have nothing to worry about. Not when they’re both just as obsessed with me as I am with them.

I move to the edge of my seat, unconsciously leaning in as I watch Noah and Dom lock eyes. Their connection is something I can’t get enough of. As much as I need them to communicate with me almost constantly in order to keep us connected and to keep me grounded, their connection is different. They can communicate with just a simple look. Noah nods almost imperceptibly. Dom’s eyes narrow as he drops into the play.

“Come on, guys,” I whisper more to myself than anyone else.

“Your team’s still a man down, Lil,” Dad jokes behind me.

“Come on, Storm!” Emily shouts next to me, cheering on my team like the loyal friend she is. She may not love hockey, but she is always there to cheer along with me.

The Kings pass across the ice, but this time, our boys are ready. Noah shoots forward, intercepting the pass. Before anyone even has time to react, he shoots the puck down the ice. The Kings hang back, assuming he’s icing it for a line swap. He’s not. Dom is down the ice quick as lightning. He snatches the puck before it can pass into icing territory. The King’s players realize what’s happening and scramble to get back, but it’s too late. Dmitri has a clear break away and an empty net.

“Go!” I shout as I rise to my feet.

The entire stadium is on their feet, screaming and cheering so loudly the stands are shaking. The energy is electric, the same way the Earth feels like before a big storm. Dom is racing down the ice. The other team is desperately trying to catch him, but they won’t. He flips back his stick then rips it forward. The audience goes silent for a second. We all watch in slow motion as the small black disc slides down the ice and into the back of the net.

“Storm score!” the announcer booms through the sound system, and the crowd goes wild. The entire building is on their feet screaming and cheering. The red and white flashing lights that signal a Storm goal shred through the darkness. With only five seconds left in the game, we’ve won. The Southern Storm are league champions for the first time in years.

The game ends. Storm wins. They shake hands and do all the required things. And then they bring out the trophy. It might seem like such a silly thing—grown men fighting over a shiny cup, but I know what it means to them, how deeply they feel the gratification of their own success when they see that cup. It doesn’t just mean that they’re winners; it means that theyworked their asses off to be champions. The Captain always lifts the cup first, but ours has been out all season with a broken back so they glance between themselves as they debate who will lift the cup on triumph until it’s clear that they all silently agree that the rock of the team, the goaltender Salazar, should lift the cup. He’s most likely retiring this off season, and to him, this might mean the most. He tentatively skates forward, touching the silvery trophy with hesitant reverence before lifting it sky-high. Everyone cheers as he skates a lap, stopping near where his wife and two young boys are sitting to show up.

He hands it next to the winning goal scorer, and Dmitri Volkkon looks like a god lifting the heavy metal above his head in victory. He throws his head back and roars, and I feel my body respond. That god of a man is mine. Pleasure zips through me with that knowledge right as our gazes clash. He pins me with a heated stare as he skates right up to the glass and blows me a kiss.

“You’re a champion’s girlfriend now,” Emily whispers as Dom skates off, putting on a show for the fans. “Are you ready for that?”

Dom hands the trophy next to Noah. Everyone looks surprised, except me. The way their fingers touch and linger as they pass off the trophy tells me everything. Noah’s smile could light up the darkest storm as he holds the trophy high, his blonde hair falling down slightly over his forehead. I can’t help but smile at his joy. Our eyes lock, and I can barely contain myself as he also blows me a kiss.

“No, I’m not a champion’s girlfriend,” I reply to Emily. “I’m their obsession.”

People might judge us, but I don’t care. My men are so different, so opposite, and yet, I can’t imagine a life without them both. I don’t love just one, but two champions. And I will never stop fighting for them.

Others lift the cup. Some kissing it, others waving it above their heads, still others holding it almost reverently as they all take their turn making a lap around the rink as the champions. Discarded helmets and gloves litter the ice. Someone brings out a few bottles of champagne that the players start passing around. A few wives make their way out onto the ice to celebrate, but otherwise, most people start to filter out of the stadium to make their way back to their cars. Smiles and happy voices filter past, but my eyes are glued to the pair of men in the middle of the ice celebrating with the rest. Dom’s hand rests possessively on Noah’s shoulder. If you didn’t know better, you might think that they’re just close teammates, but even that small touch between them has my pulse racing with desire for them both.

“Go on,” Emily prompts as she elbows me in the side.

“What?” I ask her as my trance is broken. I finally pull my eyes from the ice. Most people are gone, including my dad. He must have left at some point. Probably to take a call from my overdramatic mother.

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