Madison yelled back. “Oops! Is the door locked? Too bad. I guess that's what you get for fraternizing!”
And I heard more giggles.
Ugh. Really?
I stood, hoping they'd answer the door—because I didn't know what else to do. Cold beads of water dripped and ran from my hair, and goosebumps began to speckle my damp skin. Commotion swirled all around me, as media personnel and suit-and-tie hockey types passed through the hallway. They gawked at me and muttered things under their breath as they walked by.
“Madison!” I yelled, knocking more urgently. “Please let me in!”
But Madison made it clear she wasn't answering, and she stopped another girl from opening the door for me. (“Don't you dare open that, Cora!”)
A cameraman, passing through the hall, stopped and pointed his camera at me.
“The hell are you doing? No pictures!” I snapped at him—and then I took off, down the hall, checking every doorknob until one finally opened. I slid through the door and pulled it shut.
In front of me, wide-eyed, were the game's officials—two referees and two linesmen. All older men, sitting in their sweaty underwear, and each with a bottle of beer.
“Uhh,” one of the linesman stammered.
“Hi there, sweetheart,” the oldest referee said.
I buried my face in my hands. “I'm so sorry to intrude. Can I hide here for a moment?”
“Pleasure's ours,” the other referee said. “What uh, what happened to your clothes, darling?”
“I got locked out of my dressing room.”
“Oooh.”
A pounding came at the door just behind me. Without any further warning, the knob began to turn, and the door opened.
Oh, great. Here we go!
I hid behind the door as it opened. And in stepped—
Hunter Rockwell?
He hadn't seen me. He stormed forward, into the ref's dressing room, and I quietly slid behind him, my back plastered against the door as it shut.
Hunter hadn't showered yet, and his thick curls were still drenched and glistened with sweat and oil. He had taken off his hockey equipment, but he still wore his athletic underwear: head-to-toe black tights that were practicallypaintedonto every crevice of his tall and chiseled body.
My eyes ticked lower.
Um. Wow.
With those tights, every hard and cut angle of his statuesque physique was on display. His broad, wide back tapered like an arrowhead to his narrow waist. His thighs were as thick as tree-trunks. His calves were sculpted and diamond-shaped. And, who could forget, that high and round butt that defied gravity—justbeggingme to give his cute ass a pinch.
Not that I ever would!Because not only would that be nuts, I'd probably spook him silly.
But Hunter had come in here with a purpose in mind. He shook his head at the refs, his body language stiff and tense.
“Look, guys, Iknowyou gotta give me a penalty for that sucker punch—but seriously? A five minutemajor? And no minor to Cunningham, either?”
The senior ref shook his head. “Give him what? A penalty for getting punched in the face? He baited you, Rockwell, and you fell for it. End of story. You don't think he's inourfaces all night, too? But you don't see us taking swings at him, do you? Gotta get your temper in check for the next one, there, bud.”
“I wouldn't have such a temper if you guys wouldseethe things he's doing all game long. The nut taps, the butt-ends to the face, the cross-checks to the ribs, thediving,for god's sake … you guys let him get away with it all night long, and . . .”
I reached for the door knob quietly, trying to slip out of the room stealthily while Hunter pleaded his case. And Ialmostmade it out, until one of the refs noticed. “Hey, where's she going?”
