"Still," I say, standing and smoothing down my jeans. I'm wearing one of Darren's jerseys tonight. We decided to rotate whose number I wear for away games, and tonight felt right for his. "I should probably head up to the VIP box before?—"
"Wait," Darren says, crossing to me in three quick strides. He's intimidating in full gear, all bulk and padding, but his touch is gentle when he cups my face. "We need our good luck charm first."
Before I can ask what he means, he's kissing me. It's not a quick peck either. It's thorough, claiming, the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and has me gripping his jersey for balance. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with satisfaction.
"For luck," he says, like that explains everything.
"Ifthatwas for luck, the Grizzlies are about to have their best season ever," I manage, still breathless.
"My turn," Aidan announces, practically bouncing over. His kiss is different. Enthusiastic, sweet, with just enough heat to leave me feeling chilly after it ends. "Gotta make it a proper ritual," he says against my lips. "Can't mess with the system now."
"Since when is this a system?" I ask, but Zayn's already there, spinning me to face him.
"Since right now," he says, then proceeds to kiss me like he's trying to win a competition. His kiss is a whirlwind of heat and demand, his hand tangling in my hair, making me forget we have an audience. When he releases me, I have to blink several times to remember where I am.
"I think you broke her," Dmitri observes, but he's already moving in for his turn. His kiss is like him. It's intense, focused, with an underlying tenderness that makes my heart do a stupid little stutter in my ribs. He tastes like the cinnamon gum he always chews before games, and I file that detail away with all the others I've been collecting on my pack.
I mean…thispack.
They're not mine. Not yet. Not officially.
"One more," Jax says, and I turn to find him watching with that quiet intensity that still makes me shiver. He kisses me with complete control and devastating effectiveness. By the time he pulls back, I'm gripping his jersey with both hands and unsure of how to stand.
"Okay," I breathe, looking around at five very satisfied hockey players. "If you lose after that, it's definitely not my fault."
"We're not going to lose," Darren says with the kind of confidence that would be arrogance on anyone else. On him, it's just fact. "Not with our good luck charm in the building."
"Your very dizzy good luck charm," I correct, pressing a hand to my chest. "Seriously, you can't just spring a five-way kiss attack on a girl without warning."
"Seemed to work pretty well," Zayn smirks, and I resist the urge to throw something at him. Barely. Mainly myself.
"Get that perfect little ass up to the VIP box," Jax orders, but he's smiling. "We've got a game to dominate and we expect our girl to be watching."
His words make my legs jelly, and suddenly I'm not sure I'll be able to make the climbtosaid VIP box.
I make my way to the door on unsteady legs, pausing to look back at them one more time. They're finishing their preparations, stretching and checking equipment, and I feel a twinge of anxiety.
"Be careful out there," I say, meaning it for all of them.
"Always are," Darren replies, but there's a waver in his voice that makes me pause. Before I can analyze it, Aidan's herding me toward the door.
"Go on, you're distracting us with your gorgeous face," he says, grinning. "We'll see you after we crush Vancouver's dreams."
The walk to the VIP box feels longer than it should, probably because I'm replaying five different kisses and trying to get my heart rate under control. The arena is already filling up, a sea of hostile Vancouver jerseys with scattered pockets of Grizzlies fans who made the trip. The energy is electric, and I understand why the guys love this. There's a primal quality about it, like gladiators preparing for battle, crowds baying for blood.
The VIP box is smaller than the one at home but just as well-appointed. I settle into a seat with a perfect view of the ice, accepting a glass of wine from the attendant more out of habit than desire. My stomach is doing gymnastics that have nothingto do with altitude and everything to do with the five men currently making their way through the tunnel.
I could get used to this, I think, watching them take the ice for warm-ups. The crowd's reaction is immediate. Boos for the visiting team mixed with grudging respect. Even Vancouver fans know they're watching something special when the Grizzlies take the ice. I just cheer louder to make up for it.
Aidan's gaze meets mine across the ice and the thousand-watt grin makes me melt.
Unfortunately, he's not the only one who notices me. The jumbotron immediately pans over to the VIP box and locks on my expression of panic. I give a smile that feels like it'll crack and an awkward little wave as the camera puts a heart eyes filter over my face along with a line of pink neon text that reads:Lovebird Lane.
Oh my God. This is humiliating.
But the guys are laughing their asses off already and Darren waves boldly over his head before he cups his gloved hands around his mouth and yells, "That's our girl!"
These men are going to be the death of me. Or the reason I get out of bed in the morning. It's a tossup.
