Page 53 of Crazy Pucking Love
Large flat screen TVs hung next to the bar and on the far wall, both tuned to the game. Luckily, between the Bruins and Lyla, Beck was fairly distracted.
Megan was pretty distracted with the game, too, her eyes glued to the screen once the Bruins took possession. “Oh, go in, go in.” She leaned as she urged the puck on-screen to keep sailing across the ice, like if she leaned far enough or maybe blew on it, it’d cross the line.
It went in and our table—along with half the patrons in the bar—cheered. As a Rangers fan, when I first arrived in Boston, I’d been adamantly against ever celebrating a Bruins win. The town gradually won me over, though, and while I’d still pick the Rangers above anyone else every time, I no longer cheered against the Bruins.
We ordered dinner and continued watching the game, although to be honest, I was having a hard time taking my eyes off Megan. She yelled instructions at the players, everything from “he’s open” to “go wide.” Too bad they couldn’t hear her, because she gave sound coaching advice—I was ready to do just about anything she told me to.
Here and there she would flash me a smile, and while everyone else was distracted by the waitress delivering their food, I reached under the table and hooked one of her fingers with mine.
The little indention in her cheek that accompanied her smiles showed, and a string in my heart tugged.
Then the waitress set down our food, breaking the spell that’d fooled me into thinking we were the only two people in the world for a moment.
The last seconds of the game ticked by and the Bruins pulled off the win, which left everyone in the bar in a good mood, the beer flowing freely for most of them. I stuck to water because I knew I’d need a clear mind to prevent everything I was feeling for Megan from showing in my face.
She frowned at her plate. “Aww, my fries are almost out.” She took the second to last one and swirled it through her puddle of ketchup.
“Out? You make it sound like it’s gasoline and you’ll stall out once they’re gone.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like. Fueled by fries—that’s my slogan.”
I laughed and she grinned. She lifted her soda, and I swore she was purposely drinking as sexy as possible, torturing me with the way her mouth wrapped around the straw.
I readjusted in my seat, trying not to think about other things I’d like her to wrap her mouth around.
An empty sucking noise came from her drink, and she heaved a sigh. “And now my soda is over already.”
She says things like her fries are almost out and her soda is over. How damn cute is that?
A shoe slammed into my calf, sending a sharp pain up it. I tore my gaze from Megan and glanced across at Hudson, who widened his eyes, and tipped his head toward the other end of the table.
Beck had a deadly serious expression on his face, and I worried I’d put it there.Oops. Guess I was being pretty obvious.
“I think we should ask Coach about that last play they scored on,” Hudson said, nice and loud to be heard over the din of the place. “You, me, and Beck could run it, don’t you think?”
“With the fake like that?” I added, glancing at Beck.
A crease showed up in Beck’s forehead and I wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the play or about murdering me. “Yeah, but we should add a reverse to Hudson.”
“Did you see the way they switched up their zone defense, too?” Megan leaned forward, and even though I could have gotten more than a side glance of cleavage, I forced myself to keep my gaze straight.
“That was tight,” Hudson said.
“Sure.” Whitney picked up her drink and swirled the ice around in the cup. “I totally know what you all are talking about.”
Hudson lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “I’ll give you some private tutoring tonight.”
They formed a tiny bubble and did the close talking, foreplay kind of thing they constantly fell into, and I experienced a twinge of jealousy over the fact that I couldn’t do the same with Megan.
Wait. That’s not what I want.
It wasn’t exactly notnotwhat I wanted. I just knew better than to think I could have it right now.
No drama.
Or, now that I’d already landed myself waist-deep in it, maybe I should change it toJust a bit of drama, as long as the cause of the drama has big blue eyes, a laugh that makes everything seem right in the world, and a penchant for funky jewelry.
With everyone else distracted—even Ryder and Vanessa were deep in conversation that included a bit of eye-humping—I scooted my plate toward Megan. “Want the rest of my fries? I’d hate for you to run out of energy.”
