Page 167 of Branded
Not until he smiled, mischief in his blue eyes.
Sugarpie.
He was calling me sugarpie and pressing his hand onto the glass, and I was lifting mine to line it up to his like this was a bad drama film, and he was heading off for war or something.
In front of twenty thousand people.
Then he was gone, and my cheeks were hot—though, thank fuck, I had my makeup on so no one would be able to see I was blushing. No one being Hannah and her teammates. No one being Hazel and Oliver, whose faces I caught a glimpse of when my gaze darted to the side—Hazel, considering with no little amount of caution tossed in; Oliver, pure shit-eating amusement. No one being whoever of the twenty thousand people in the sold-out arena happened to be looking up at the jumbotron and saw me reenacting my wartime dramatic film with Raph.
“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, thankful it was loud enough in the arena for the girls not to hear me.
Thankful that the game moved right along, my and Raph’s interaction a short blip in the action.
Because the Sierra came right back, putting a ton of pressure on the Breakers and keeping them chasing in their own zone for several breath-stealing minutes.
Lots of shots.
Lots of near misses.
Lots of oohs and ahhhs from the crowd.
Then Cas got the puck, and the big, lanky defenseman glanced up the ice…and I held my breath, finally understanding a bit of the game when I saw the lane to the net—I actually saw it, saw the space, the path he could take, the opening around the players.
He’d seen it, too, and a lot faster than me, no surprise.
He was already moving, charging up the ice, closing in on the Sierra goalie.
A shot…
The crowd groaned.
But that shot was hard and low and the puck bounced off his pads…right to Raph.
He swung, his stick flicking out, and this time the crowd erupted.
Because the puck flew into the goal.
Hannah and I were on our feet again, the babies rolling, my butt jiggling, my voice ringing out with the rest of the Breakers fans in the arena.
Raph was mobbed by his teammates, and they all started skating to the bench, but I didn’t miss him turning to look at me, his eyes flaring, mouth tipping up at one end before his lips moved, and this time I almost heard his voice rasping in my ear. “For you, sugarpie.”
So fucking ridiculous.
So fucking lame.
Such a fucking line.
But…it wasn’t. I’d known him long enough to know that was for me.
A wink. That mouth turning up again, this time on both sides.
And then he was back on the bench.
And then Hazel was leaning close, her mouth tipped up. “I think we need to talk.”
Nope. No talking. I had the all-encompassing urge to run up the stairs and out of this arena, to keep on running back to New York, maybe up to Canada to some small farm town where the copious winter storms would keep everyone at bay.
But I couldn’t run.
