Page 54 of Reckless On Ice

At least I’m now a part of his game day routine, and that feels really damn good.

Ryder got me glass seats behind the home goal for the game tonight, and Harlowe deemed my first game as Ryder’s boyfriend worthy of coming down from her fancy owner’s box to sit in the crowd. Zander is home with the kids,so she’s living it up. We each have a Hypnotic Hydra, some neon green colored cocktail made with sour gummy worms on the rim that are supposed to be the mythical creatures the team is named after, pretzel sticks Harlowe swears are legit the best she’s ever had, and popcorn as we wait for warmups to start.

“Is he being good to you?” Harlowe asks, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder and sipping her drink as she narrows her eyes at me now that we have a chance to sit and talk.

“Lolo, I’m not holding your earrings so you can fight my man.” I laugh, and she smirks as she kicks her heeled boot at the boards in front of us.

“At least you know I’d kick his ass for you if he deserved it,” she says, shrugging. “I may have four kids and be in my mid-thirties—” She makes a retching face before she can continue. “Oh gross, I just threw up a little in my mouth saying that. Anyway, I will still go hood on a bitch when needed. You can take the girl out of the streets of Atlanta, but you can't take the streets out of the girl.”

“Girl, I know you grew up in the suburbs and had a strict-ass Asian mom who wouldn't let you roam the streets. You act so hard, but you’re the biggest softy.”

She cackles and wags her finger at me like I got her there.

“I made him crawl to me today, and he didn't even argue before he did it,” I say quietly as I roll my lips in and try to keep my smile from taking over my entire face. This is the kind of thing I can tell Harlowe, as my closest friend and confidante, and know she won’t judge or let it slip. She carefully held mysecret for years and allowed me to be myself with her.

“My man!” she says, holding up her hand for me to high-five. I slap her palm. “You’re reading the books I sent youandtaking notes. What a fucking king. God, I love this for you. You deserve so much goodness, Knox. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am for you.”

The goal horn blows several times, and the music cranks up as the visiting team from Utah skates onto the ice. A moment later, the Hydras take the ice, with Ryder leading them. They skate out in a swarm, doing fast circles and shooting pucks into the empty net until Ryder and the second goalie move toward us. I can see the moment Ryder notices me. He locks onto my position, and instead of skating to the goal or finding a spot to stretch, he comes right up to the glass and rips off his mask.

“Ooooh, you’re in trouble,” Harlowe says, smiling around her drink like she thinks something is hilarious. True, Ryder’s face is stormy, and he doesn't look happy, but I can't imagine why.

He knocks his stick against the glass. “Jersey!” he shouts, barely audible above the pumping music and noise of the crowd, but the word is clear enough. “Put it on!”

Oh.I hold up the jersey Ryder laid out on the bed before he left, so I brought it with me. I’m not sure he intended for me to wear it, as that would be a pretty big indication I’m here for him, and we’re not hard-launching our relationship. His words, not mine, because I’m ready to hard launch every fucking thing with him. But I get it. Ryder needs to do thingsat a slower pace than I do.

“You sure?” I yell back, looking down at the jersey. “Maybe I’ll go buy a Magnus Gustafsson jersey. He doesn't get enough ice time with you always in the goal,” I yell back. He slams his gloves against the glass and bares his teeth like the fucking animal he is. Oh, hell yes, I love when he goes feral caveman.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Knox. I’ll tear that ass up,” he says, clear as day through the plexiglass barrier.

Harlowe and I both start laughing. “You heard your man,” Harlowe says, taking my cocktail from me so I can put the jersey on. “You gotta wear his name like a good boy-toy.”

I slide the oversized jersey on, which hangs on me since it’s one of his and meant to be worn over his bulky pads. “Better,” I call to Ryder, pinching the shoulders of the jersey and popping them a few times as I nod my chin at him and lower my lashes so he knows I’m flirting.

Ryder nods and finally smiles. “Don't take it off. I have my eye on you.” He sends me a wink before he puts his mask back on and returns to warmups.

“Holy shit, I think I just got pregnant again,” Harlowe says, handing my drink back. “You two have so much testosterone flowing between you, you untied my tubes. Why I like that extra macho bullshit as an independent woman capable of taking care of myself, I don't even know, but it’s hot as hell.” She fans herself, and I join her.

“Why do I love that meathead?” I muse, sighing dreamily.

“The heart wants what it wants. Andhe,” she motions at Ryder, “a sperm factory on skates, got on his knees andcrawled to you?” she asks, sounding skeptical. I nod and raise my brows while biting my lip so she knows how fucking hot it was. “Daaayamn. If I didn't have the love of my life at home with the most beautiful children imaginable, I’d be the same shade of green as this cocktail because of my jealousy. Ugh. I’m so damn happy for you.”

We sit back and enjoy warm-ups as we chat and eat our snacks. When the game starts a little later, I’m ready to watch Ryder kick ass. Being just to the side and behind the goal means that every time there’s a break in play and Ryder turns around to get water, he looks at me. If he keeps his mask down, it’s hard for most people to see where he’s looking, but I feel his eyes bore into me and know he’s smiling. When he pulls his mask off for a longer break, to shake his hair out or spray water in his face, because of course he does, I get to see his eyes and face uninterrupted, and it’s gorgeous.

It’s also attracting a bit of attention to have the goalie flirting with someone in the audience pretty blatantly. Harlowe and I are on the Jumbotron a few times throughout the night, so we smile and wave or sing along to the song playing, or do whatever the silly game is that’s happening on the screen. I’m just glad I’m here with a woman, even if I’m out, and she’s the wife of an owner at that, so it feels like I have some kind of protection from any potential scrutiny. Back to being a goldfish in a bowl. Damn, no wonder Goldie likes watching others after being watched all the time. It’s evenworse being right up against the plexiglass barrier of Harlowe’s “boy aquarium” as she calls it.

Ryder is playing like a man possessed by the hockey gods, blocking shots and stopping advances like he can read the players’ minds. The score is three-one in the Hydras’ favor going into the third period, but I’m sure Ryder is kicking himself for allowing even that one goal when I know he would have preferred a shutout. He’s back defending the goal we’re sitting behind, and I get to watch his ass as he bends over and blocks shots as the timer counts down the last minutes of the game.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as a breakaway play happens on the ice, Utah stealing the puck and making a mad dash toward Ryder. I ignore my phone, intent on the action. The Hydras players are quick to scramble back into position, battling for possession, but it’s happening too late, too close to the goal. There are so many players in the crease, the puck is lost in the scrum, sticks slapping, gloves shoving, Ryder caught up in the middle of it all. He spreads out, covering as much of the goal as he can in a near full split, his glove coming down right in the middle of a bunch of men with knives strapped to their shoes, and I still don't know where the puck went amid the chaos that happened in a matter of seconds. The refs blow their whistles, stopping play and pulling players away as Ryder rolls over and uncovers the puck inches from the goal line, where he’d stopped it by throwing his body into the mix and pulling it under himself. The arena erupts, Harlowe and Ijumping up and screaming with them at the close save.

The spectators stay on their feet, anxious as the refs set up another face-off with ten seconds left on the clock, which is just long enough to do some damage for either team. Utah has pulled their goalie for a sixth man on the ice, and fans are vibrating with the possibility of an empty net goal. The Hydras gain possession, passing with skill that keeps Utah’s D-men spinning to keep up. Number sixty-nine on the Hydras winds up and slaps the puck, sending it sailing at the empty Utah goal and sinking it into the net just as the final buzzer blares and ends the game with a four-to-one score and sealing another Hydras win.

Ryder is already moving out of the goal and coming straight for the glass where I’m standing as his team rushes to pile on the guy who scored. I put my fist up against the plexiglass, and he mirrors the movement with his glove on the other side, something we haven't done since we were kids, and I’d go to his games. I feel a knot of emotion rising in my throat as I open my hand and press my index finger against the glass. He’s already shaking his hand out of his glove and presses his finger that bears the matching scar to mine to the same spot, then nods at me before he retrieves his glove and skates back to his team.He remembered.

“Okay, Mr. ET Phone Home, what in the cuteness overload was that?” Harlowe asks, hooking her arm in mine as we filter out of the stands.

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “It’s something wedid growing up, at any game I’d go to. We have matching scars, like blood brother shit,” I say, showing her my finger. “At the end of every game, before he even celebrated with his team, he’d come up to the glass, bump my fist, and we’d touch scars. We haven't done that since things went bad between us.”

“I seriously hate how fucking cute you two are and that you go back to childhood with your stories.”

---