What the actual fuck?
I get ready fast—jeans, hoodie, sneakers. No makeup. Hair pulled back.
I’m determined to figure out what the hell is going on.
The rink is freezing, even inside. My breath fogs in the air as I step through the entrance. The sound of skates cutting across ice echoes through the empty space.
I walk down the corridor toward the rink itself, and that’s when I see a guy on skates, moving across the ice. Then another one flies out of nowhere, stick in hand, chasing a puck.
When they turn and notice me, the taller one skates over and jumps out of the rink in one smooth motion.
He removes his helmet, shaking his head so his hair falls back into place.
Koa.
“You made it.”
“You play hockey.” It’s not a question. Just a statement of disbelief.
“It’s just morning skate. Official season starts next week.” He steps closer, eyes searching my face. “You okay?”
I stare at him. His grey eyes are clearer in the rink lighting, sharper. He’s extra tall with the skates on, towering over me. And he’s in his element. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the ease in his stance.
This is him…where he belongs.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I want to watch you skate.”
He leans down and kisses my cheek. His lips are cool from the ice. “I do a lot more than just skate circles, babe.”
I watch him walk back to the rink entrance. My eyes drop to his ass, and I can’t help it. The way the hockey pants fit, the confidence in every movement.
I make my way to the seats, climbing a few rows up. The cold plastic bites through my jeans as I sit.
He races across the rink with the puck in front of him, stick handling it like he’s a professional. Then he winds up and slaps it into the net.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
He’s controlled. Powerful. Graceful in a way that makes no sense for someone so big, so violent.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
What can’t this man do?
My stomach flips. Not sick butterflies. Something else.
I underestimated him.
He’s a massive drug dealer. Probably rich. Beats guys without blinking. Hustles. Plays drums. And now this?
He’s ahockey player.
And then it hits me.
This is how he’s earning my respect.
I walk down to the edge of the rink and wave him over.
He slides the puck into the net one more time, then skates over, breathing hard through his helmet.
