Page 51 of Empty Net

“Hmm?” I ask, turning toward him.

“You can kiss me.”

For the second time tonight, his words steal my breath away.

“I…”

He shrugs, like what he’s said is no big deal. “If you want, I mean. You can kiss me if you want to.”

Then he steps forward, pressing his lips to my cheek, his five o’clock shadow scraping against me in the most delightful way.

“Good night, sugar,” he says softly, then he dips his head before turning back toward the elevator.

I don’t say anything. Where would I even start? No. I just stare after him with wide eyes, my jaw dropped in surprise.

Fox steps into the car, facing me, and just as the doors close, he winks. It’s the last thing I see before he disappears, and I’m left with the realization that Rory was right—I absolutely do have a crush on Fox, who is now my fake fiancé.

And I have no clue what to do about it.

CHAPTER 10

FOX

“No, no, no,” I chant as the Edmonton player barrels down on me.

He’s the leading goal scorer in the league and the absolute last person I want with the breakaway, but that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I get my glove up, ready and hoping—praying—he misses this shot. I track the puck, trying to predict where he will let it fly off his stick. Then he drags it back and shoots.

It zings right over my glove and into the back of the net.

“Fuck!” I shout as he zooms by, his teammates coming up to crowd around him and congratulate him on tying the game with less than ten minutes to go.

“Sorry, bud,” Hutch says, skating up and tapping me on the pads. “That was my fuckup.”

“Should’ve had my glove in the right place.”

“No, I should have kept it in the zone and pushed harder to beat him to the puck. You’re off the hook, man.”

He gives me another tap before skating away, and I shake off his words. Hutch is wrong. I should have been able to save that. Yes, I was just facing down someone who is lighting up every goalie in the league, but still. That was an easy one. I knew wherethe puck was the whole time. The shot was simple, lackadaisical even. I still managed to miss it.

It was my fault again, and I know why—I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about Lilah and her sweet lips and the way her body felt pressed against mine. I can’t stop thinking about the look she gave me when I told her she could kiss me if she wanted, the want that sparked in her gaze. Considering how much I enjoyed it the first time, it would be monumentally stupid to kiss her again. Yet, I want to.

Bad.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to see her during warmups, but neither she nor Auden were where Hutch expected them to be. It took everything I had not to ask about her. I was relieved when I overheard his conversation with Lawson about how the girls got distracted by nachos, and all was good.

It wasn’t enough, though. I still have her stuck in my head and need to get her out. We have a game to win. I shake off all thoughts of Lilah and the bad goal, reining my focus back in on what I need to do to get us this other point. I breathe in, then out.

In. Out. One, two, three.

In. Out. One, two, three.

My head begins to clear, and the noise of the crowd dims as the ref drops the puck again. We win it back, passing it back and forth until we find an open path and rush into the Edmonton zone. The boys toss the puck in deep, Lawson hurrying after it, taking the hit to make the play. He whips it behind the net to the waiting open man. Thomas dekes the opposing player, then drives the puck to the net, tossing it lightly on goal. Their netminder flashes out his pad, kicking it away and almost right onto the waiting stick of Hayes, who, on one knee, launches it toward the net.

The goalie makes an incredible glove save—the exact one I should have just made to stop them from scoring—and the crowd collectively groans in frustration as we miss the chance to gain the lead again.

We reset, and this time, Edmonton wins the puck and tries to rush into our zone with it, but we don’t let them, even stripping them of it when they get caught sleeping, giving us a two-on-one breakaway. Hayes and Lawson whip the puck back and forth and back again, dragging the goalie out of his crease just enough to bite on Hayes’s fake shot before he zips it right to the tape on Lawson’s stick and tosses it into the yawning cage.

One flick of the wrist later, we have our lead back.

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