Page 29 of Enticing the Enforcer
This is dumb. He’s hot. Sexy. Funny. Charming as hell and I deserve a little of all of that in my life, right?
My thumb hovers, pulse kicking faster than it should. I type, erase, type again, then finally let it fly:If you win the game tonight, I’ll show you what I’ve been thinking about in person.
I hit send, drop the phone on the cushion beside me, and lean back with my hands over my face, heat crawling up my neck.
It takes less than a minute for the reply to come in.
Jparks23:Angel, I was already planning to win. But now? Consider it done.
10
Ingrid
There’sno anonymity this time. Not even close. The minute I step out of the SUV, the press is waiting, lenses flashing like strobe lights at the club. Shouts of my name mix with questions I have no intention of answering. Marv muscles his way through security, clearing a path like he’s parting the Red Sea. Madison stays glued to my side, her phone in one hand, her expression set to ice queen mode.
It feels different from the other night. That time, I slipped in unnoticed, blending in with my signature pastel hair tucked under the beanie and cheering like I was just another fan in the stands. Tonight, there’s no pretending. Everyone knows I’m here, and worse–they’re determined to find outwhyI’m here.
“Ingrid! Do you know someone on the team?”
“Ingrid! Have you always been a hockey fan?”
“Ingrid! Who do you think will win tonight?”
I give a small smirk, but no comment. Tonight isn’t about me. We bypass the crowded concourse and head straight for the suite Madison secured. No more hanging out right behindthe glass. Marv’s insistence. Inside, the energy flips instantly. Shelby, Twyler, and Nadia are already there, buzzing like they’ve just walked into the VIP section of heaven.
“Did you see all this food?” Twyler is already at the buffet, a pile of snacks on her plate. She’s dressed in Reese’s oversized jersey and a pair of ripped jeans. “Nachosandsliders.”
“Don’t forget the open bar,” Nadia adds, eyeing the bartender.
Nadia spins in a slow circle, her wide eyes taking in the private seating, the glass wall overlooking the rink. “This is unreal. Ingrid, you’ve officially ruined regular seats for us forever.”
I laugh, shedding my coat and handing it off to Madison, who folds it with military precision and drapes it over the back of a chair. “Aren’t the guys headed to the pros? I’m sure you’ll get special seating.”
“Yeah, but we won’t be together,” Nadia says, giving me a kind look. “So thanks for this. Really.”
The puck drops, and the roar of the crowd filters through the glass, muted but still electric. Even from up here, the intensity thrums. Jefferson’s out there on the ice, moving faster than my eyes can track, but I feel him like a magnetic pull.
I don’t totally understand the rules: the constant line changes, the way the puck disappears into a scramble of sticks and bodies, but the energy is contagious. Every time someone slams against the boards, the entire arena vibrates.
“God, did you see that hit?” Shelby practically shrieks, gripping her beer like it’s a stress ball.
“Clean,” Twyler assures her, though she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“That’s the best part,” Nadia adds with a smirk. “Controlled violence.”
I laugh, shaking my head, but I can’t stop watching Jefferson. When he’s on the ice, the crowd reacts before I even know why, like they can sense something’s about to happen. And it’s not just him–it’s the way he and his teammates seem to move as one. A sharp pass, a quick shift, someone always in position. It’s choreography without music, perfectly timed and brutal all the same.
It reminds me of being on stage with my musicians and dancers, when everything clicks and the sound swells bigger than the sum of its parts. That unspoken rhythm, the instinctive give-and-take. Jefferson thrives in it. He leads, but he also trusts, and it makes them all stronger together.
I sip my drink and lean back in the plush seat, pretending I’m just here for a night with the girls. But every time the number 23 blurs past, I catch myself holding my breath. I think about that kiss, how the hands wielding that stick with such power were on me the night before–strong but gentle.
I fan myself with my hand.
“Are you okay?” Madison looks me over.
“Yeah, just a little warm in all these clothes.”
She’s barely watching the game, scrolling her phone.
