Page 10

Sure, I’m no hockey player, but I spend a decent amount of time in the gym, and I’m conscious of what I use to fuel my body. I’m proud of it, and I’m more than happy to show it off when the opportunity presents itself.

Seconds pass, and Nash’s gaze stays locked on me.

As much as I love that I’ve stolen his attention, he also has a job to do. And unless he wants people to be asking questions, he really needs to get the fuck back on with it.

An eruption of excitement scares the shit out of me, and when I rip my eyes from the angry D-man, I discover that we’ve scored. And it only gets worse when I risk a glance at my sister.

“What the fuck was that?” she demands, her eyes locked on mine.

“What was what?” I ask, hoping she buys my innocent act.

“Nash,” she starts, and my heart rate kicks into overdrive. “It was like he saw a ghost.”

I try to hide my sigh of relief that she’s not immediately accusing me of causing that reaction. I guess it is highly unbelievable that I might feature in any aspect of Cooper Nash’s life.

“I wasn’t really paying attention. That goal was crazy,” I say, lying through my teeth. I only know who scored it because Reeves’s name and number are illuminated on the Jumbotron.

“Yeah,” Sienna agrees as the game restarts.

I’m on edge for the rest of the game. I force myself not to look at Nash, but more often than I’d like to admit, I find my gaze wandering toward the bench when he’s not on shift.

But as much as I might want to find him staring across the ice at me, he never is.

I swear, he doesn’t look at me for even a second. It’s the way it should be.

New Year’s Eve was…a mistake? A moment of stupidity? A lapse in judgment? A little bit of all three?

All I do know is that even if Nash wanted me, I highly doubt he’d ever make it known. There isn’t a single question online about his sexuality, and the only partners he’s ever been photographed with are women. I use the term “partners” lightly because, as far as I can tell, he’s never had a relationship. Like many hockey players, Nash seems to be a one-night-only kind of guy.

My head spins with questions as the game progresses. It’s been the same since the new year. But before now, I had distance and only the internet to take my slight obsession out on. Now, Cooper Nash is almost within touching distance, and the temptation to demand to know what the fuck that kiss was about is burning hotter and hotter with every second that passes.

And it only gets worse when the game nears the end.

Nash’s play has gotten increasingly more violent as the minutes have ticked by. He’s spent more than his fair share of time in the box, giving Philly numerous power plays, of which they’ve made the most of. The score is currently three to one, and the Vipers fans are losing hope, and our players are losing their patience and their tempers.

“Holy shit,” Sienna squeals as two players collide into the boards right in front of us.

It takes me a hot minute to recognize that the player pinning the other to the plexiglass is Nash. And he looks fucking feral.

Sweat is dripping from his chin, his eyes are dark and wild, and his jaw is set hard, causing a vein in his neck to throb.

I can’t help but wonder just what that would feel like beneath my lips.

Desire races through my veins and ends at my dick.

Nash chirps the Philly player, and whatever he says hits a nerve.

“Oh my god,” Sienna gasps, covering her face with her hand as the guy Nash is holding throws his fist out, clocking him in the jaw, making his head snap back, and his helmet tumbles to the ice, giving me an unobstructed view of his face.

Fucking hell, he’s hot.

Whistles blow behind them, and other players head over, but they don’t have time to intervene before Nash retaliates.

It takes every ounce of self-control to smother the groan threatening to erupt from me.

Watching that man throw down in front of my eyes is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

It’s over all too soon, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t already safely stowed the footage away in my spank bank for later.