Page 27 of Slap Shot
They stayed like that for several minutes, their foreheads touching. When Heather finally trusted herself to speak, she found Oliver watching her with an expression of wonder and possession that made her heart race all over again.
"That was," she began, then trailed off, not sure how to finish.
"Yeah," Oliver agreed, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "It was."
As they slowly untangled themselves, Heather became aware of their surroundings again, the humming servers, the glowing monitors, the very real reminder that they were in Oliver's private sanctuary. The vulnerability of what had just happened, of how completely she'd surrendered to him, should have scared her. Instead, it was like the most natural thing in the world.
He led her to the shower where they cleaned up and kissed some more. After playfully drying each other off, they got dressed.
"So," she said, straightening her clothes and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "About our hacker problem."
Oliver's grin was pure male satisfaction. "Right. The hacker problem." He cupped her ass and squeezed.
"This is serious," Heather protested, though she was fighting a smile.
"So am I." Oliver's expression sobered as he pulled up the network analysis on his main monitor. "Whoever's doing this, they're not just targeting the team anymore. They're targeting us specifically."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. They frame me using evidence designed to make you suspect me. They time it perfectly to drive a wedge between us just when we're getting close to identifying them." Oliver's fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up logs and data streams. "This isn't about money or team secrets anymore. This is personal."
Heather studied the data, her post-orgasmic haze clearing as her analytical mind engaged. "They want us to stop working together."
"Which means we're closer to identifying them than we realized." Oliver turned to face her, his expression grim. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"
"We're going to catch them," she said simply.
"You're damned right we are."
Chapter Eight
Oliver
Oliver's stick connected with the puck at exactly the right moment, sending it screaming toward the top corner of the net with enough velocity to leave a dent in the crossbar. The ping of rubber against metal echoed through the practice facility, followed by appreciative chirps from his teammates.
"Damn, Chenny," Kane called from center ice, "you trying to break the net?"
Oliver retrieved another puck from the pile. His mind focused entirely on the fundamentals of his shot. Heel of the blade, weight transfer, follow-through. The same mechanics he'd been drilling since he was six years old, refined into muscle memory that required no conscious thought.
Which was good, because his conscious thoughts kept drifting to last night at his apartment. The way Heather had looked at him when she'd realized he was innocent. The way she'd trembled beneath his touch as he'd brought her apart with his hands. The taste of her name on his lips when she'd shattered for him.
Another shot, another clean placement. This one found the five-hole in the empty net, sliding through the space where a goalie's legs would be positioned.
"Show off," Dmitri muttered, but there was admiration in his voice. "Is like watching sniper hunt deer in forest."
Oliver lined up his next shot, using the familiar rhythm to center himself. On the ice, everything made sense. No mixedsignals, no accusations of betrayal, no wondering if the woman he was falling for could trust him. Just the puck, the net, and the physics of making rubber go exactly where he wanted it to go.
"All right, boys," Coach Vicky's voice cut across the ice, "enough target practice. Let's run some systems."
The team gathered around her at center ice. Oliver proven to himself that his personal life could coexist with his professional. In fact, having Heather believe in him again had sharpened his focus rather than dulling it.
"Three-on-two rush drill," Coach announced. "I want to see crisp passing and smart decisions. Chenny, you're running point on the first group."
Oliver nodded. Kane liked to drive hard to the net, drawing defenders out of position. Mateo had soft hands around the crease but sometimes tried to get too fancy with his finishing. The key would be reading the defensive coverage and making the play that created the best scoring chance.
They lined up at the blue line, two defensemen—Jax and Noah—backing up to protect the goal. Oliver took the drop pass from Kane and immediately surveyed the developing play. Jax was cheating toward Kane's side, anticipating the pass to the team's leading scorer. Noah was staying centered, trying to take away the middle of the ice.
Oliver held the puck for exactly two strides, drawing Jax another step out of position, then slid a pass to Mateo on the weak side. The winger had a clean look at the net, but instead of shooting, he tried to make a cute pass back to Kane in traffic.
