Page 52 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
I can see the wheels turning in her head, that spark of competitive fire lighting up her eyes. Her smile widens, and I know I have hooked her. “Alright,” she says, the fire in her eyes still burning. “You’re on.”
“Better,” I say, my voice steady, already moving toward the puck. “You’re going to regret this.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she says, skating after me, her confidence radiating as the game begins.
I toss the puck onto the ice and skate over it, my stick tapping lightly against its surface. The sound echoes across the rink, and Hazel is already in position, her eyes locked on the puck like a predator sizing up its prey.
“No mercy,” I say, gripping my stick tighter.
“Didn’t ask for any,” she quips, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass.
The moment I move, she is on me. I skate to the left, trying to fake right, but she anticipates the move, her stick darting out to block my path. Impressive. She used to be good at reading plays, but I did not expect her to remember how to counter mine.
“Not bad,” I mutter, switching gears, my strides longer and faster now. The puck glides ahead of me, and I chase it down, my muscles humming with the familiar rhythm of control.
“Not bad?” She echoes, skating hard to catch up, “I just stopped you in your tracks.”
“You’re going to have to do a lot more than that,” I say, turning sharply and cutting across the ice. She mirrors my move, her skates carving clean arcs as she tracks my movement.
I pivot suddenly, spinning out of her reach and heading straight for the makeshift goal I set up earlier. Hazel isn’t far behind, but I am faster. With a sharp flick of my wrist, I send the puck flying into the net.
“First point,” I say, smirking as I slow down.
“Don’t get cocky,” she says, already resetting for the next play.
This time, she takes the puck. She is fast, and I’ll give her that; her skating is smooth, and she turns sharp. She weaves across the ice with surprising confidence, and for a moment, I hesitate, watching her.
“Come on, Liam,” she calls, her voice teasing. “Or are you too scared to keep up?”
That does it. I charge forward, cutting into her path. My stick snaps against hers as I try to steal the puck, but she is ready for me, angling her body to shield it.
“Nice try,” she says, skating backward, her moves effortless.
She pivots sharply, her hair whipping across her face as she pushes the puck ahead. I close the gap between us, my reach longer, my stick darting out to hook the puck away. But insteadof panicking, she fakes left, then right, her skates slicing against the ice as she dodges me.
I lunge forward, but she pulls off a spin move, twisting away from me with the puck still under her control.
“Damn,” I mutter under my breath.
She lines up the shot and, with a quick snap of her wrist, sends the puck flying into the net.
“Score!” She shouts, throwing her arms up.
“One to one,” I say, skating over. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” she fires back, grinning.
“Okay, show-off,” I say, skating up to her, “that makes us even. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Don’t be such a sore loser,” she says, her grin pure mischief.
“Not losing yet,” I reply, grabbing the puck for the next round.
I charge down the ice, my focus narrowing as I zigzag to throw her off. She is right on my heels, her stick darting out in an attempt to intercept, but I keep the puck tight, my control precise.
“Let’s see you stop this,” I say, winding up for a shot.
But before I can strike, she dives in, her stick connecting with the puck and stealing it away.
