Page 91 of Blocked Score

Then Rhys executed a beautiful pass to Carter, who sunk it into their net with a one-timer.

Then I won a struggle behind our net and unloaded the puck to Tuck, who scored on a beautiful slap shot.

Now there’s ten seconds left in the game, Notre Dame isn’t even bothering to try, and we’re passing around the puck like we’re playing driveway hockey, counting down the seconds as the scoreboard reads 7-3.

It feels like a dream. I don’t even know if it’s sunk in yet. There’s a wide, giddy, disbelieving smile on my face as myeyes scan the ice and I see the same happiness written on my teammates’ expressions.

With one second left, Tuck throws his stick into the air triumphantly.

The buzzer sounds. The game is over. The Brumehill Back Bears are Frozen Four champions.

We all skate to the middle of the ice and collide with each other in a giant group hug as all our teammates leap over the barricade and join us.

The next hour is a blur. There’s celebrating on the ice, giving interviews, hugging Coach so hard that it feels like the breath squeezes out of him, piling into the locker room, celebrating some more, and all throughout feeling like I’m on top of the fucking world.

This is it. This is what we played for every season, the outcome that eluded us every year until now.

My college career is ending on top, with the best fucking hockey team anyone’s ever played for, let alone captained.

The blur comes into focus when I get to my cubby, grab my phone, and hit the button to videocall Scarlett.

She answers, and my screen fills with her, Harper by her side, and a packed street behind her in Cedar Shade. I can see the whole town out celebrating our win, and it only makes my heart beat harder.

“Hey there, champ,” she says with a smile.

“Hey, Scarlett,” is all I’m able to say, struck dumb just looking at her on my phone’s screen.

“Yo, Scarlett!” Sebastian crowds against me, noticing my phone.

“Harper’s here, too!” Scarlett says coyly, tilting her camera to put her friend into view.

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, “I’m so happy right now, I could even kissyou, Harper.”

Harper rolls her eyes, but I wonder if I’m imagining the twitch at the edge of her lips. “In that case, I’m glad you’re in Minnesota.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sebastian makes a kissy face that has Harper grimacing before he turns around to jump onto Rhys’s back again.

“You’re back tomorrow?” Scarlett asks.

I nod. “Yeah. In the evening.”

A smile curves across her lips that feels like an arrow to the heart, in the best way. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

My chest thrums with warmth, because as great as this tournament was, as great as the win was, as great as celebrating with my teammates is right now—I really, really can’t wait to get home to Scarlett, either.

46

SCARLETT

My hands curl into Lane’s sheets as he slants his tongue just the right way to finally send me over the edge.

His face stays buried between my legs as I ride out my orgasm. Unusually, Lane hasn’t shaved in a couple days, and the sensation of his rough stubble abrading against my inner thighs only intensifies the pleasure as release barrels through me.

By the time my taut muscles relax and my vision becomes clear again, Lane’s out from between my legs and next to me, tucking me into his arms and holding me close. Being snug in his arms while post-climax relief washes through me makes me feel so perfectly at ease, so perfectly safe, that it’s as good as another orgasm.

Once my breath is steady enough to speak, I look up at him and ask with a wry grin, “So, how’s it feel being national champion?”

“Not as good as it feels being your boyfriend.”

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