Page 109 of Bagging the Blueliner
If he was wound this tight over the little things, I wouldn’t put it past Amy to be making extra trips to hide from her overbearing husband.
Natalie let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve been over this. Every woman—hell, every pregnancy—is different. You need to calm down before you have a stroke.”
The noise Liam made in response could only be described as a growl. He wasn’t going to survive until that kid was born at this rate. Almost as if on cue, Amy walked up behind him, dropping a loving hand on his shoulder, and he sprang into action. Leapingout of his chair, he offered it to her, excusing himself to get them both a plate of food.
I tilted my head in the direction in which he fled. “So, how’sthatgoing?”
Amy shook her head, her green eyes looking skyward. “He’s been . . . attentive.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I muttered dryly. “If you ever need a moment of peace, my apartment is available any time you need it.”
She smiled. “Thanks. We have an ultrasound next week. I’m hoping when he sees everything is just fine, he’ll settle down.”
Natalie snorted. “Don’t count on it.”
“I came here to watch hockey, not discuss Liam’s alpha tendencies,” Amy stated, effectively ending the conversation.
Gazing down to the ice, I was grateful for my best friends offering a much-needed distraction. We were still scoreless, and I couldn’t help but tense up every time Cal took the ice.
It hadn’t escaped my notice how he took it upon himself to cover Maddox Sterling, even going so far as to switch sides with Luka, his defensive partner, when necessary. They were old college teammates, but I knew I was responsible for any bad blood between them. Hopefully, when we went public, they could bury the hatchet.
My eyes tracked Cal’s smooth movements as he carved up the ice with long strides. It gave me a small thrill to watch the ease with which he skated backward, his legs crossing as he kept perfect balance. It was effortless.
I knew from my experience playing that skating was the foundation. If you couldn’t skate well, there was a limit to how far you could go in this sport. It needed to become second nature—as natural as walking, mindless. If you needed to focus on putting one skate in front of the other, it stole focus from other aspects of your game, such as shooting and positioning.
Shifting in my seat to ease the ache between my thighs from watching Cal skate, I leaned over to Natalie, whispering, “Do you ever watch Jaxon skating out there, gliding so effortlessly, and it turns you on?”
Pensive, Natalie thought about it for a moment as she kept her eyes on the game. “Skating, no. I’d rather he be gliding other places.”
Well,damn, Natalie.
My mouth dropped open as I stared at her. I spent years trying to get her to come out of her shell sexually, so her statement shocked the hell out of me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “I’m pregnant and horny. Leave me alone.” Exhaling deeply, she added, “God, I need a win tonight.”
That was something you had to be sleeping with a hockey player to understand. When they were hopped up on adrenaline after a win, they turned into animals in bed. When they lost, their temperament ranged anywhere from a pissed-off pit bull to a kicked golden retriever—neither was in the mood for sex.
“Same, girl. Same.” I sighed as we went back to watching the game in stressed silence.
Overtime.
The hockey gods were not looking down on us favorably tonight. The only thing worse than a Game 7 was one that went into extra time. The tension was at an all-time high, and neither team had given the other an inch during the entirety of regulation.
So, here we sat—tied at two goals apiece—knowing the next goal won the game.
During the intermission before overtime, I physically shut down.
Usually, I was loud, screaming at the players like they could hear me from a distance over the twenty thousand other people in attendance. Now, I sat silent and shaking, gripping the edge of my seat near my knees.
Natalie and I moved into the padded fold-down seats in front of the high-top counter when Amelia brought a sleepy Charlie over in the third period.
The players took the ice, and I could only pray this ended quickly, regardless of the outcome. If we weren’t going to win, I’d rather they put me out of my misery instead of dragging the game out all night.
No such luck tonight, it would seem.
Fifteen minutes gone in the first overtime period, and there had been chances, but no one had scored the goal that would declare a winner.
While I leaned forward, my legs shaking uncontrollably, Natalie reclined in the seat next to me, a sleeping Charlie curled up in her lap. Her more relaxed posture was deceiving; I could see that her knuckles had turned white, curled around the armrest we shared between our seats.
