Page 107 of Score on You

“Love you, and your knack for deflections.” He supports my clumsy efforts without fail. “Are you about done?”

“How about an intermission? I recall something about hot chocolate.”

A twinkle gleams from the green in his eyes. He digs in his pocket and whips out a puck. “How about a quick game first?”

I rock my hips into his. “And here I thought you were excited to see me.”

His scowl scolds my attempt at humor. “You’ll get frostbite on your ass if you’re not careful.”

“How—?”

“I’ll start by stripping you from this sorry excuse for pants.” Ridge pinches at the flimsy material of my leggings.

“You told me to be comfortable.”

“Might as well go naked for all the padding these offer. No wonder you’re sore.”

“Sorry I didn’t dress properly for an occasion I’ve never attended before.” Sarcasm is becoming second nature for me.

“You can make it up to me later… if you win,” he adds ominously.

Intrigue narrows my eyes. “Tell me more.”

Ridge reaches over the boards and grabs a hockey stick. “This is for you.”

I wrap my fingers around the proffered end that has a taped section. I clutch it awkwardly, testing the weight as I try to swing it back and forth. It’s heavier than I predicted and barely moves. “Where’s yours?”

“I don’t need one.”

We’re in motion before I can question him. It requires zero labor for him to pull me across the rink. He puts me no more than three feet from a net and drops the puck in front of my stick. I’m trying to solve this riddle as he backs himself into the goalie position.

Ridge squats. “Take your best shot, sweetness.”

My laughter echoes off the rafters. Even at this distance, my chances aren’t awesome. “You think I’ll be able to score on you?”

“Won’t know until you try.”

“What happens if I get a goal?”

“You can have whatever you want.” A smolder ignites in his gaze.

I’m certain mine reflects a similar heat. “Anything?”

He nods. “Pick your prize.”

Determination digs my toe pick into the ice. I try to aim, but I doubt it will make a difference. My motions lack finesse and speed. Despite the odds, the puck glides straight into the net. The only sound is my heartbeat drumming to the tune of disbelief.

“Not fair. You didn’t block it!” I finally sputter.

Ridge’s smirk is holding secrets. “I wanted you to win.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I have a hunch what you choose will benefit both of us.” His stare hasn’t left me. “What’ll it be?”

“You,” I say.

He points to himself. “Me?”

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