Page 4 of Truce: Declan
"I thought you were competitive?" I shout at him.
He shakes his head, and his gaze tightens. "Just warming up. No sense in straining a muscle," he says, and I watch as he stretches on the ice.
I skate toward the bench, removing my leather jacket. I'm already warm, and we've just begun. I'll be sweating by the time we're knee-deep in a match between us.
"I'm ready," he says and stands. "Are you sure you don't want to stretch first?"
He's right, I should stretch before skating around and chasing his ass on the ice, but I want to start the game. "I'm good."
"Don't say I didn't warn you." He chases after the puck, and I realize he's already started the game.
I curse under my breath and hurry to catch up, but my best bet now that he has gotten the puck is to defend the goal, which is not my strength. By the time I reach the goal, he's shucked it in for a score.
"Just warming up," he says.
I shrug it off. "It's a tie score," I remind him. I started the game before he was completely ready, but he didn't exactly tell me he was going to stretch. I thought we were playing when he handed me the puck.
He doesn't argue with me, probably because he knows he can easily kick my butt in ice hockey. But I'm not going to bend over and let him win. I'm going to give it my all.
He shoots me the puck after scoring, and I race on the ice haphazardly with it, doing everything I can to block him as he closes in on me. I keep my back to him. I'm smaller, and while it's harder with his long arms and legs as he reaches for the puck, I outmaneuver him, sneaking by as I hurry away.
But with his long strides, he chases after me, and our legs tangle, knocking us both to the ice, Noah falling first and my body landing awkwardly above him.
"Are you okay?" I ask, my body straddling his. He's breathing hard, and our hockey sticks lie beside us, abandoned.
"Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me." Noah chuckles as his hands find my hips. "Are you okay?"
"I think you took the brunt of the fall." I should stand, untangle from his arms. But my body has other ideas. He's buried between me and the ice, and I don't dare admit aloud that the warmth of his chest and the heat he exudes makes my insides burn.
He smiles, staring at me when I brush my lips against his.
He takes my bottom lip between his teeth, eager and hungry for more. His fingers slide against my skin, beneath my shirt at my lower back, touching me, pulling me tighter. It's impossible to miss the growing heat between us, nestled at my thighs as I straddle his hips.
He doesn't try to hide it, either. Why would he?
The lights in the ice rink flicker, and I pull back slightly, worried someone may shut off the lights, not realizing anyone is inside.
Thunder echoes overhead, reverberating through the arena, and the lights flicker again. Reluctantly, I move off of Noah and offer him a hand.
We both grab our hockey sticks, and he snatches the puck as we skate back toward the players' bench and head for the locker room.
It takes a few minutes to get my boots laced back on. I slip back on my leather jacket as we head toward the exit. Noah swings the exit door wide open and stops, grabbing me before we step outside.
It's pouring, and rain pelts the pavement. Neither of us thought to bring an umbrella. When we left, the sky was ominous, but it wasn't raining.
"I can order us a ride share," Noah offers. "We're not likely to see a cab except on game nights unless we walk a few blocks and—" He gestures to the weather outside.
"Okay, thanks." I shuffle my feet as he orders a car for us, and we wait until the driver has arrived before high-tailing it outside. We're soaked when we reach the vehicle and climb into the backseat together.
The driver glances in the rearview at us. "Noah Reece. Oh my gosh!" the woman driver squeals with delight. "I saw your picture when I accepted your ride, but I didn't think it was actually you. Can I get an autograph?" The excitement bubbles off her, and Noah smiles politely.
I can't tell if he's thrilled for the attention or just playing it up because that's part of his job, to make the fans happy. "Sure, do you have something for me to sign? I don't have a pen back here, either."
"Oh, no problem! Here, you can just sign my arm in marker."
He laughs and leans forward, using the marker she supplies. I should be relieved the woman isn't lifting her shirt and asking him to sign her boobs.
"If you plan on getting that tattooed, better keep it out of the rain," I joke.
