Page 25 of Love of the Game
Good. Very good. I grinned back. “It’s all yours, then.”
Settling in next to Drake felt normal and right. Alfie eyed me as he boarded, but shook his head and smiled. Bruda punched me on the shoulder. “Do we have to collect yet?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but no,” I answered. He cackled and moved on.
“What was that?” Drake asked, poking his thumb toward the back of the bus.
I shook my head. “Bets. Whether you and I will hook up. It’s a thing that happens. Not just with me, but whenever anyone is obviously interested in someone. Or whensomeone starts dating someone, there’s sometimes a pool for how long it’ll take until they get engaged, that kind of thing.”
“Oh.” I looked over, and Drake had this amused expression on his face, and he flicked his gaze over my body, and shit did that send a bolt of lust through me. “But we haven’t even been on a date yet.” He paused, and that smile of his widened. “Right?”
God. I didn’t usually get flustered, but I was in the deep into it now. “Right,” I stammered out. Damn me for running my mouth that first night. And damn Drake’s mouth now, because I wanted to kiss those lips. This was going to be a long bus ride.
But as the bus lurched forward and we got onto the turnpike, the rowdy crowd that was the Otters settled down. Conversations fell to murmurs under the rumble of wheels over road, and some of the guys settled in for a nap. I’d usually nod off myself, but my mind was whirling through what I’d learned today and wondering what I could possibly do to help Drake out, besides just…listen.
Then again, maybe all I had to do was listen. Still, a thought popped into my head. It was absurd, maybe even irreverent, given the circumstances. Of course I opened my mouth. “Hey, I have an idea of how you can score a goal tonight.”
Drake started at my voice, and turned from the window, where he’d been watching the scenery—such as it was—speed past. Apprehension flitted across his face, and I regretted disturbing him. Too late now, so I plowed ahead. “You know those giant cutouts of heads people bring to games?”
His brow creased. “Yeah?”
“So, imagine one of those behind the Pickaxes’s goalie,only it’s that asshole. And then hit him with pucks. Repeatedly”
Drake stared at me, unmoving but for the little bumps and shudders of the bus, then the consternation morphed into confusion, exasperation, and then he started laughing. “Oh my God, you’re weird.”
“I am not. I mean, I am, but not like that. I’m just saying—a little visualization could go a long way!”
“Yeah.” That lovely smile shaped his mouth into something truly delightful. “It could.” He slipped his fingers into mine and squeezed. “Thank you. For thinking about me.”
“I—” My brain caught up enough to stop the words from flowing out.I always think about you.“You’re welcome.” His fingers were warm and heavy in my hand. The connection felt like a live wire, like electricity sizzled between that touch.
His smile softened. “Gonna take a nap,” he said before leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes. He—didn’t let go of my hand. I didn’t let go of his. I’d never felt more dizzy and dumbfounded in my life. I didn’t get this way overanyone, let alone someone I’d known for a handful of days.
A few breaths had me closing my eyes as well.
Mom used to talk about how she knew my father was the one the moment he said hello to her at a charity event. She’d been the event planner, dressed in boring black slacks and button-down, as she put it, but she said something passed between them in that moment, and hours later, once the event was done, he asked her for her number. And that was that.
And this was—this. Terrifying. Exhilarating. Unexpected.
The only thing I could do was hang on and see where this led us.
For this game,I was in my usual spot on the left wing of the first line, with Bruda centering me and Alfie. Despite having played most of his life on the bigger Olympic-sized rinks, Alfie’d taken to the faster-paced game over here in North America and was one of our fastest players. Great on the forecheck. A sneaky shot. I suspected he’d end up on the Lions next year. Maybe be a black ace, if the Lions made a playoff run.
Mac started Drake on the third line with Smitty and Bike. Another test. See if he could bring the energy needed to mix things up with the Pickaxes, who had the well-earned reputation of being bone-crunchers. Drake was?—
Drake wasDrake Williams.From the moment the puck dropped for the faceoff in the defensive zone, he played like he had the first two seasons of his career. A decisive faceoff win, and the puck came to him during the breakout into the neutral zone, he danced through the defense and evaded the back-check, and probably would’ve scored, if the Pickaxes’s goalie hadn’t been a number-two draft pick. As it was, the kid barely made the save, and we were all over them until the goalie managed to cover the puck in the mad scramble around the net.
The look Drake had when I skated past him was one of sheer focus and determination, not anger, not even frustration. His mission was to get a puck behind the goalie. Wasn’t going to be easy. Their goalie wasontonight. A fucking wall. I was sure Alfie was about to score when the goalie twisted in a way that shouldn’t be possible and snagged the puck out of the air.
We skated back to the bench. “How the fuck…?” Alfie shook his head and banged his stick on the board.
“Hey.” Drake patted him on the arm. “It was the right idea. Make him move side to side. Just got to do it more. That wasclose.”
“But not in,” Alfie said.
Drake nodded. “We’ll get him.”
I caught Mac watching the exchange, and he caught me watching him. A tiny tick up of his mouth was the only sign he was pleased. A couple shifts later, Drake’s line went out once more for another defensive zone faceoff. Drake conferenced with the guys, then got set. Whatever he said—holy shit, it was beautiful. His win. The breakout, the speed and long passing. Bike bearing down on the other team’s goalie, then the series of short passes that put him out of position, and the beautiful shot by Drake from one knee that sent the puck into the open net.
