Page 37 of Pucking Forbidden

“Thanks, Jordan.”

“You can thank me after the game tonight, princess. I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come off the ice.”

“Fine, but we arenothaving sex in the locker room, Jordan Silvestri.”

A loud laugh rumbles down the line, making me smile. “Baby, there are a dozen places I’d like to fuck you in that arena. The locker room damn sure isn’t one of them.”

“Glad we’re on the same page then.” There is no way I’m getting naked where his teammates sit their sweaty balls. No, thank you.

It’s been so long since I attended a game that I almost forgot how much I love them. Being in the arena is different than watching it on the television screen. On TV, you don’t really hear the rumbling of the crowd. You don’t feel the celebratory roars rolling over you in a wave of sound when someone nets a goal. You can’t make out the playful jeers and catcalls or hear the sticks slamming into the puck…or the guys slamming into the boards.

But in the arena, you’re surrounded by the sounds of hockey. There’s a certain electricity about it that a televised game will never be able to deliver. It’s thrilling, like a little piece of your heart is on the ice as you scream your head off and cheer your team on.

A big piece of mine was always on the ice. It was right out there with Jordan and my brother. Tonight, it’s out there with Jordanagain. Every time he looks over at me, as if checking to see if I’m really there, my smile grows bigger and my heart beats faster.

I missed this. I missed watching him play. I missed seeing just how beautifully he moves and how quickly he reacts. I’m not even remotely surprised when he ends up in the penalty box twice before the first period is over. I’m even less surprised when he nearly gets in a fight after one of the Chicago Wind players checks Archer Graves from behind.

Jordan is on the guy, hauling him away from their captain before the guy even has a chance to turn around. The whole crowd hoots and hollers, stomping their feet. But Jordan doesn’t hit him. He just shoves him away, yells something at him, and then spins to help Archer up.

The game is close, all the way to the end. As the clock winds down, I’m on my feet beside Emilia Lariat and Peyton Cloud, screaming my head off. Jordan has the puck, but he doesn’t have an opening. He snaps the puck to River, who takes off down the ice in a breakaway.

The entire arena is so loud, I can’t hear myself think as River rushes toward their goal, the Wind’s nearest skaters racing to catch up. But there is no catching him. He whips down the ice so fast it makes me dizzy.

I lose sight of the puck for a moment when he turns to the left at the last second, only to catch sight of it again as the goalie for the Wind makes a frantic dive…and misses.

The puck slams into the back of the net, and the goal horn rips through the arena, drowned out by the crowd.

I squeal, jumping up and down with Emilia and Peyton.

The guys smack River on the back at center ice, celebrating their win. With less than six seconds left on the clock, it’s over with. The Wind fans aren’t thrilled about it, but ours are.

Jordan glances up, seeking me out.

I send a little wave in his direction, beaming.

“He has it so bad,” Emilia says from beside me, giggling.

I blush, peeking over at her. We met a few hours ago. I really like her. She gave Jordan all kinds of shit. He acted like it annoyed him, but I know better. He likes her.

Seeing that was relieving. I’ve been worried that he shut down and shut everyone out after what happened with the Bucks. It’s good to see that he has friends here, people he cares about, who care about him, too. He deserves that more than anything.

“He’s way less grumpy with you around,” she says, grinning at me.

I smile back, not sure what to say…mostly because she’s right. He has been a lot less grumpy lately. Certainly less cranky than he was when I first tracked him down at the arena. He was mad as hell that day. Now, he’s just…calm. Well, calmer. I don’t think he’ll ever be truly calm. The man is a lightning storm. But he seems more at peace now, maybe? I don’t know.

I just know that it looks good on him. And if I had something to do with it, then yay for me. Actually, yay for me anyway. I’m getting regular orgasms from the man I’ve been crazy about for years. Obviously, my life feels a little bit like a fairytale right now.

Emilia, Peyton, and I don’t wait around for the teams to shake hands before trudging back to wait for the guys. Security doesn’t even blink in our direction as we slip down the tunnel, heading toward their locker room. I guess they know Emilia and Peyton on sight by now.

“Are you guys coming out to celebrate tonight?” Emilia asks.

“We are,” Peyton says.

“I don’t think we are,” I murmur. “Jordan didn’t say anything about it.” I know he usually goes out with the team at least for a little while after a game, but I haven’t really tagged along. I’m not entirely sure he’s ready to be that public yet.

I’m trying not to rush it because we’re still new, still trying to find our footing. And unlike a lot of new couples, we have a whole lot of baggage along for the ride. Sometimes, perfection takes patience. It takes time.

But I’d be lying if I said feeling like we’re hiding doesn’t sting a little. Part of me worries that he still feels like he’s doing something wrong by being with me. We aren’t the same as we were five years ago. I’m not eighteen anymore. He’s not Jamison’s best friend any longer. But…he’s a public figure, one who has spent years being bashed and battered by the media.

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