Page 158 of Desperate Pucker
St. George. Number seven.
My heart pounds in my chest as I peer over my shoulder and see the flash in his eyes. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip. I suddenly feel hot despite the chill in the arena.
He looks at me with raw, unbridled want. Like he’s ready to push me up against the boards and have his way with me right now.
“So fucking hot,” he says in a low voice.
Behind me, I hear the ladies chuckling.
“Oh, he likes it,” Bella teases.
His gaze lingers for a few more seconds before he looks up at me. His mouth curves up in a wicked grin before he skates off.
“How’d that feel?” Bella asks when I sit back down.
“You were right. That was so, so good.”
I watch, mesmerized as Ryker cuts across the ice. He’s moving like a speed demon, darting around the Boston players that are trying to cover him.
This is game one in the next round of the playoffs for the Bashers, and they’re playing the Boston Grizzlies.
It’s halfway through the third period, and I can’t believe how much energy Ryker has, especially with how close the game is. They’re tied two to two.
Del passes the puck to Ryker. Before he can get far, a Boston player checks him into the boards, hard. The entire home crowd gasps. I cringe at the crunching sound of the impact. It’s so hard and unforgiving.
But Ryker doesn’t even wince. He pushes back up, his eyes still on the puck that went flying, and takes off after it.
Dakota pats my arm. “It’s hard watching our guys get beat up.”
I nod and try to smile. I shouldn’t be so tense. Ryker is fine. Yeah, he’ll probably be sore after the game, but he’s not moving like he’s injured. He’s used to this. He knows how to play through it.
But still. I can’t help but worry. I know how bad he wants to play during these playoffs. I know how bad he wants to win.
I want him to win too. I just want him to stay safe and healthy.
Boston has possession of the puck now. Camden goes after their winger. They scuffle, and he takes off with it. Sam trails behind him, and I watch as Camden moves like he’s going to shoot the puck into Boston’s net, but he passes it back to Sam instead.
Their goalie falls for the fake out and dives forward, which leaves Sam the perfect opportunity to shoot. But a Boston defenseman catches up to him and tries to steal the puck. Sam hits it to Ryker, who’s the farthest away from the net.
I hold my breath, my nerves going off like fireworks inside my body.
Ryker pulls his stick back and slap-shots it at the net. The goalie scrambles to block it, but he’s a half-second too late. The puck lands at the back of the net.
We’re all on our feet, cheering and screaming. I look over at Ryker on the ice, getting swarmed by his teammates.
My heart is pounding with pride for him.
When the guys skate off, I catch eyes with Ryker. He looks at me with that hungry gaze. His eyes drop to my jersey before the corner of his mouth hooks up.
My tummy flips over and over at just how much I adore my hockey pro boyfriend.
“You gotta do one shot with us, Georgie!” Camden hollers.
He holds up a shot glass of tequila and stands up at our usual table at Spanky’s. The guys are celebrating their win against Boston tonight with drinks at Spanky’s.
“Only if you never call me Georgie again,” Ryker mutters.
I bump my shoulder against his. “Aww come on. I like it.”
