Page 26 of Love on the Ice

I can feel her eyes on me. Every chance I get, I glance over at her. She’s so damn adorable sitting in the front row watching the game, wearing a Carolina Fury jersey. Goddamn, I want her to have one with my name on the back. I want to see my name on her body, everywhere.

Tattooed if it was possible.

I’m surprised by my own thought. I never wanted someone to tattoo my name on their body before. My theory has always been never to do something permanent with someone who may be temporary. But I get it now. I understand why people do it because I want my name over every square inch of her body. It’s not rational at all.

I’m playing the game as hard as I can, my skates slicing into the ice, when a member of the Bakersfield Condors checks me. BAXTER. I don’t think I could get his last name out of my head. It’s burned in there now. His words take me out of my thoughts and bring me right back into the game.

My focus now completely and solely on him and nowhere else.

“That your girl sitting over there you keep staring at? Maybe when you lose, I’ll fuck her and show her what a real man feels like between her legs.”

Throwing down my stick, I reach for his collar and tug him against me.

Fuck him.

Without responding with a single word, I lift my hand and punch him in the face. And that’s when the fight begins. Within seconds, we’re on the ice and hitting one another. I hold nothing back because fuck him for not only talking about a woman that way but for talking about my woman.

One referee pulls at me, then another. So, naturally, instead of stopping my fight, I swing at them. And that’s how I get thrown into the penalty box for half of the game. I’m angry, ready to get back in the game so I can get at him again.

I am going to take him down, too. Nobody talks to me like that. Talks about Lorelai like that. I’ve never felt so protective over someone like that before. Sure, I would protect my mom the same way, but this feels so much different—bigger.

What he said, the way he said it, that shit goes beyond ribbing opposing teams. It hits at something personal, and that’s not fucking acceptable. He better hope I stay in this box the whole time because as soon as they let me out, I’m going after him.

I’m the bull, and he’s my target.

My coach glares at me. It’s one thing to get into a fight with another player. It’s another to turn on the refs. I’m in danger of being thrown out of the whole game. Tonight, I don’t think I would mind.

Watching Baxter, I take in every part of him. Every way he moves. His weak points and his strengths. I take them all in because I’m going to play his ass. He’s not getting out of here without understanding exactly what he did wrong.

I’m taking him down.

And I’m going to do it without throwing one more punch.

I’m going to beat him in the rink. I’m going to win. I’m going to completely and totally embarrass the hell out of him in front of his teammates and his fans. I hope he goes back to California with his head hanging down in shame and his tail tucked between his legs.

I skate toward my coach when I’m released from the penalty box. Thankfully, he doesn’t rip me a new asshole right then and there. Instead, he tells me what he wants me to do. How he wants me to do it.

Opening my mouth, I start to ask him if I can focus on Baxter, on taking him down, but Coach speaks first. “Take that son of a bitch down. I know what he said.”

“Coach,” I state, jerking my chin in a nod.

He shakes his head once. “That shit is uncalled for. Take his ass down but try not to end up in the box again.”

I agree. That’s the last place I want to end up during this game. My sights are on Baxter, and I want Lorelai to see me do it. She probably won’t give a shit, but I will, and that’s all I care about right now.

The rest of the quarter, I see nothing but Baxter. I steal the puck away more than once, then shoot to my teammates. He checks me a few times, but I don’t retaliate. He speaks to me under his breath, but the blood is rushing so quickly in my ears, pounding so hard that I can’t hear his words. It’s probably a good thing. Otherwise, I might get hotheaded and retaliate.

When the buzzer sounds, we skate toward the locker rooms. There is going to be a whole halftime show and everything. I wish I could contact Lorelai and make sure she’s safe, but I can’t. My focus needs to be on the game and nothing else.

Coach Burns has a lot to say, all positive things. And I like that about him, but I really want to hear him tell us to kill that son of a bitch, Baxter. He doesn’t say that. My knee starts bouncing as I drink electrolyte water.

It’s time to go back out there and win this game. We’re almost finished. We’re ahead by one goal, and I’m going to focus on getting at least two more. Maybe three. He stops me as I make my way past him.

Coach reaches out, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck. He tugs me forward, my forehead touching his. His eyes search mine, although they’re so close, I’m not sure what he sees, if anything.

Then he speaks.

“Win this game. Do not let that asshole get even an ounce on you.”