Page 55 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
Of course, my knowledge and years of experience help her, I won’t deny that, but she knows what she wants, and she’s going for it. I’m pretty sure she would even if she didn’t have my full support. She’s fucking fierce, and I hope she never loses that fire and determination to win.
As I skate around to the board where the rest of the team is waiting for the game to start, I glance at the spot she’d sit in.
But she’s not there.
I hate having evening games when she can’t come.
She does, too.
She used to beg me until I almost cracked. The sight of her tear-filled eyes and wobbling bottom lip used to wreck me.
But it’s Monday night. She has school tomorrow.
I need to be a responsible father. Her education has to come before hockey. Even if she hates it.
That doesn’t mean she won’t be watching, though.
She’ll be sitting at home with Mom right now, wearing her jersey with her eyes glued to the screen.
I come to a stop and look directly at one of the cameras aimed at us. I have no idea if it’s the one that’ll stream directly into our living room, but if it is, Sutton will know it’s for her.
Coach gives us a few final words before we line up, ready for the face-off.
Squeezing my eyes closed for a second, I picture the trophy that we all crave.
Preseason game one.
The first step toward lifting it.
The first of eighty-two season games.
Each of those games will help determine our fate.
Sucking in a deep breath, I open my eyes—and it’s not the official or even the puck that steals my attention.
It’s her.
Sitting right behind our opponent’s net is Casey Watson.
Her attention is already on me.
My teeth grind so hard, I’m sure I’m about to crack one.
It might have been three days since I discovered the identity of the woman who rocked my world last weekend, but I haven’t figured out what to do about it.
I was hoping that maybe I could just ignore it. Ignore her.
I mean, really, how often do I see her?
But standing here right now, I realize that locking her in a neat little box and stuffing her to the back of my mind is going to be easier said than done.
I haven’t been able to forget a second of our time together. It’s only worse now that I can put a face to the body, to the desperate moans and sexy pleas for more.
“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth as I force my eyes from hers.
But they don’t move very far, and the second they lock on what she’s wearing, I really fucking regret it.
She’s wearing…she’s wearing my fucking jersey.
