At that moment, Chase skates over. “We’re all set up, Briggsy. And don’t worry, he’s not stealing our thunder. Jonesy is teaching Herrera how to make scrambled eggs and Herrera’s demonstrating how to drive stick. As for me, I’m paired up with a girl I know from my Chem lab. She’s teaching me how to juggle and I’m gonna teach her how to pick a lock.”
I don’t know what to say to that except to remind myself to keep this guy away from Emma. They’d be a dangerous combination. I turn my attention to Spence, which is easy to do. Yes, I’m surrounded by hockey players, most of whom are good-looking, but not a single one compares to my guy. We line up in front of the net. He’s behind me with his hands wrapped around my body. He takes a minute to introduce the skill and then begins listing instructions for holding the stick. I place my hands just where he tells me, mimicking his movements and wishing we were alone and not in a freezing cold arena.
He tells the camera, and me, all about the wrist shot and demonstrates the steps before embracing me again and leading us to the row of pucks. He keeps talking and we make the shots together. They all go in, of course. But when he says it’s my turn, I look at him like he’s nuts.
While Chase lines the pucks up again, Spence leans down into my ear and says, “You got this. I barely did anything. Just do what I say, and you’re golden.”
I stand in front of the net, in position, and I wobble a little. Spence steadies me with his arm on my elbow, and I take a deep breath before taking my shot. Miraculously, it goes in. The next one does, too. The third one is a fail, going wide, but I put the last two pucks in the net and I’m taking that as a win.
Cheers erupt all around me and before I know what’s happening, Spence lifts me in the air. I could get used to hockey, if it’s always like this. Spence takes off his helmet as I pull mine off, and he bends down for a kiss. “Pretty sure you’ve earned a prize,” he whispers.
I’m pretty sure I have, too, and I have no doubt I’ll collect tonight. But there’s another prize I have my eye on. “That was fun,” I tell him, loudly enough that the other guys can hear. “But I thought I was actually going to play hockey with you in goal.”
“Paige, I’m not in my gear. And besides—”
And just as I’d hoped, JD skates in our direction and says, “Suit up, Briggsy. We’ll warm up while you get your gear on.”
Laughing, Spence heads to the locker room. A couple of other guys have arrived and they’re skating and shooting at the other end of the rink, but JD calls them all over.
“You’re taking our guy on?” Vonne asks.
“Yep,” I say with confidence I shouldn’t have.
“Not that you haven’t had a stellar career of six minutes,” JD says. “But you know he’s one of the best goalies in the league. He was a first round pick. He could get called up next year, easy.”
“I do know that. Which is why I need your help.”
By the time I’m done explaining what I need and why I need it, Spence returns, fully suited up.
He skates over to the net and gets in position. As planned, the other guys skate around, seemingly paying no attention to what we’re doing. Chase has kindly lined up a row of ten pucks this time and I stand at one end, ready to take my shot. But then I pause. “So, If I get one in your five-hole, or whatever, which, seriously? Who comes up with these things and how is that not dirty? But anyway, if I score on you, Spence, what do I get?”
“No offense, baby, but I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about that.”
Oh, it’s on now. I mean, it was on before, but it’s really on now.
“Humor me,” I tell him.
“Anything you want.”
“I get to pick the skill I teach you.”
“Okay…”
“And you can’t refuse.”
He laughs. “Baby, if it really makes you happy, I’ll let you put makeup on me, even if you don’t make one of these ten shots.”
Oh, my Jesus. I’m so glad I have a plan to wipe that smirk off his face.
“All right, I’m taking my first shot,” I call.
“Uh, it’s actually better when you don’t announce it,” he coaches. Silly boy. Because, just as we planned, when I take that first shot, four guys descend on the other nine pucks, shooting them in different directions and effectively distracting the shit out of Spence. And while he’s not looking, I pop my puck right into the net.
“Goal!” I shout. My boyfriend mutters a string of curses, and I just laugh.
Later, we’re cuddled in his bed after incredible sex.
He’s stroking my back and I know it lulls me to sleep, but before I drift off to dreamland, I have a question.
