Page 23 of Overtime Goal
With three minutes left, the ref blew his whistle for icing, and Criswell called for the second line. I was already uneasy as Holky, Riley, and I hopped over the boards. The faceoff was in the Beavs’ zone, but after Holky lined up, the ref waved him off because he touched his counterpart’s stick. Riley slid in for the draw, and I shifted my weight, ready to go.
Toronto’s center snapped it back to their right wing, who exploded forward and sliced through our coverage. Holky hesitated too long and couldn’t block the lane. The winger tore across the blue line, already far ahead of Holky. Riley was on his tail, close but not close enough. It happened so quickly that Gabe was still setting up, and the winger slammed the puck through his five-hole. The score was 7–7.
We coasted to the bench for another line change. Holky skated beside me but kept his eyes down. After we wedged ourselves between Dog and Harpy, Holky never glanced over.
I stayed quiet because I’d been in his shoes. He was human, and hockey players screw up sometimes. But judging from my experience, knowing that did nothing to help with the guilt.
It took all of thirty seconds for the Beavs to catch our third line flat-footed and bury another one. The score was 7–8, andthat’s where it stayed. We’d clinched our playoff spot weeks earlier, but the loss still hurt.
I went out with the guys to drown our sorrows at Revolution Hops. Holky and Dog weren’t there, and I figured Dog was taking care of his man. Riles and I sat together and talked quite a bit. One of us would say something, we’d exchange a careful version of one of our sultry looks, and he’d press his leg against mine. Yet when women came by, he’d sit up, all smiles and sexy eyes, and flirt like there was no tomorrow. Stupid me, having hopes.
After one such female fly-by, Riley leaned close. “You look like you solved cold fusion and don’t like the answer.”
“Just watching you work.” I nodded toward the brunette walking away, still laughing at something Riles had said.
He shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t want to be rude, but I haven’t followed anyone away.”
“Mm.” How else was I supposed to respond when he sounded like he was doing me a favor?
I sipped my drink and looked across the table, where Packy and Abby were arguing over who’d had more assists in March. Gabe kept trying to insert himself as a fact-checker, but they ignored him.
Brody knocked on the table. “Boys, does it really matter? You’re both fuckups, so you’re lucky to get any assists.”
“Fuck you,” Packy threw back at him. “Abby may be a fuckup, but I’m an All-Star.”
Brody snorted. “In your dreams. You both disappoint your mothers every time you step on the ice.”
We all laughed, and Abby pointed at Brody. “Mamochka thinks I am best player.”
Packy grinned at Brody. “And my mom thinksyou’rea goon.”
“I am,” Brody said, then gave an angelic smile. “A very charming one.”
“That’s a bold claim,” I said, unable to resist the chirping.
Brody put a hand on his chest. “You wound me.”
Gabe caught me in a fake glare. “Leave my man alone. I’d bust your mouth, but you’re about sixth on my list right now.”
Riley laughed, tipping his bottle toward Gabe. “Let me guess. Various Beavers take spots one through five?”
“Damn right.”
Another group of women passed by, this time a trio in tight jeans and Buffalo jerseys, and one of them paused and brushed Riley’s arm. “You played a great game tonight, handsome.”
Riley put on a grin. “Thanks. Catch the whole thing?”
“Every minute,” she purred.
Riley’s eyes followed her for a few seconds, then flicked back to me like he’d just remembered I was there. He leaned in again, close enough for me to smell the arena shampoo in his hair.
“She’s not nearly as hot as you,” he half-whispered.
My heart gave a stupid little thud, and I smirked at him. “You’re something, you know that? And you’re going to flirt yourself into somebody’s bed tonight if you aren’t careful.”
“Yet to be seen.” He gave me a crooked grin. “Throwing your hat into the ring?”
My pulse hammered in my ears, but I wasn’t sure if it was irritation or the thrill of possibility. His gaze was teasing, but his eyes were full of heat. I glanced away, wondering what it would take for him to act on it.
