Page 53 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Ollie’s jumping around like a loon and waving, and Sawyer’s face…lights up.

Now it’s not heat in my belly that’s driving me to distraction.

It’s warmth in my heart.

Sawyer waves then lines up at the blue line, his expression one of complete and utter focus.

And that’s freaking sexy too.

The whistle trills.

The puck drops.

And…it’s time for some hockey.

Fifteen

Sawyer

I inhale, watching the ref’s hand.

Watching the puck in the ref’s hand.

Hearing the trill of the whistle.

Seeing his fingers open and the puck drop toward the ice.

I’m already moving, slashing at my opponent’s stick, trying to gain that extra inch or two so I can have an advantage with the win.

It works this time, but I’m only winning half of my draws tonight.

The Hawks—and Ace fucking Ambrose—have gone from the worst team in the league to one of our toughest competitors.

Which is annoying as fuck, especially because Ace and I have been trading face-off wins all game.

But also good for the league, for the sport, and for my friends.

Smack!

“Ouch, Christ,” I mutter as Ace’s stick slashes down over my hands, the sting reverberating through my knuckles, my palms, my fingers. I ignore the pain, drive forward and draw Ace with me, giving Smitty the opportunity to skate with the puck a few strides.

He’s older, on the leeward side of his hockey career—and gearing up for his future one as one of Vi’s matchmakers (he hopes)—but he’s still one of the most solid guys we have back at the blue line.

Case in point?

He finds a lane that no one else has seen and he makes a true beaut of a pass.

It lands on Gray’s stick with a soft crack and then my teammate is moving, hauling ass for the Hawks’ zone and cutting in hard to the goal.

He’s big. He’s strong.

He’s annoying as fuck to play against.

All of which means I’m damn glad to have him on my team.

Aiden joins in on the play, skating hard to the net, so I hang high, covering his position as they drive to the goal, connecting another pass before Aiden’s attempt at a shot is directed wide and is scooped up by Shepherd Hall, one of the Hawks’ best defensemen.

He fires the puck along the boards, and I lurch toward it, catching it in my glove and dropping it to the ice at my skates.