Page 67 of In My Hockey Era
But Mia’s words echo in my head.
These guys have options.
I exhale slowly, tearing my eyes away from Bennett and back to the game.
The Stampede look great, and I’m already brainstorming ideas for this week’s podcast.It’s been a little while since I recorded.
The final buzzer blares through the arena, and the Stampede seal their win with a two-goal lead.The crowd erupts, fans on their feet, cheering as the team gathers on the ice to bump gloves and pat each other on the back.Beside me, Mia lets out a whoop, but I barely hear it.
Because my eyes are locked onhim.
Bennett skates toward the bench, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat-damp hair curling at his temples.He’s grinning, eyes bright with the adrenaline of the win, and normally, that look would do things to me.Normally, I’d be the one smiling.
But Mia’s words are still swirling in my head like a bad hangover.
As he heads down the tunnel, my stomach twists.I tell myself to let it go, to enjoy the win and get out of my own way.But thensheappears.
A blonde—tall, and striking, the kind of woman who could star in a shampoo commercial—leans over the railing near the tunnel entrance, stopping Bennett in his tracks.
I see it all from my seat.
Her manicured fingers curl around his forearm, her lips move, saying something that makes him laugh—laugh.And then she steps closer.
I’m on my feet before I even realize it.
“Where are you going?”Mia calls, but I don’t answer.
I weave through the crowd, down the stairs, slipping past security and closer to the tunnel.I don’t know what I’m doing, not really.All I know is that Ihatethe way she’s touching him, hate the way he’s smiling at whatever flirty comment she just made.
I press in near the railing, my heart hammering.
Bennett shifts, catching sight of me over the blonde’s shoulder.Something flickers in his expression—surprise, maybe amusement.Then, his lips pull into a slow, knowing smirk.
The blonde is still talking, but he’s barely listening now.
And I don’tthinkbefore I open my mouth.“Don’t let me interrupt.”
The woman turns, blinking at me like I’m an unexpected plot twist inhernight.Bennett’s smirk deepens, eyes glinting with something I can’t quite place.
“Quinn,” he drawls, cocking his head.“Didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”
I scoff, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck.“Oh, I wasn’t.I just figured I’d stop by.Looked like you were having a great time.”
He huffs a laugh, dismissing the blonde with an easy,laternod before turning his full attention on me.“That sounds like jealousy, sweetheart?”
I fold my arms, chin lifting.“More likesecondhand embarrassment.Thought you had better taste.”
He steps closer.“Youdocare.”
I roll my eyes.“Please.”
“Admit it.”He tilts his head, voice dropping.“You didn’t like seeing that, did you?”
I swallow hard, glaring up at him, because he’s right.And heknowshe’s right.And I hate that I’m standing here, feeling likethis.
He’s close now, heat radiating off of him, his post-game scent—sweat, ice, something uniquelyBennett—wrapping around me.
His gaze flicks to my mouth.
