Behind the Net: Chapter 21

“THEIR FIRST-LINE DEFENSE is weak since Hammond is out with an injury,” Ward tells our defensemen a couple nights later in the dressing room. Hayden Owens and Alexei Volkov, an older defenseman, nod.

Ward continues to talk us through game strategy. The energy in the room is heightened, crackling with intensity. Even down here, we can hear the fans excited in the stands.

The Calgary Cougars are our biggest rival, and tonight is the first game against them this season.

Ward runs through the drills we practiced this week, but my mind is elsewhere.

My mind is on my pretty assistant, sitting in her tiny sleep top and shorts, smooth legs tucked beneath her as she played the guitar in the middle of the night, looking like an angel sent from heaven.

Or maybe she was sent from the devil, because Pippa is tempting as hell.

Gorgeous, even back then.

Something pleased floods my chest. She remembers me, and she thinks I’m hot.

I’ve been thinking about her since I woke up this morning. Throughout practice, my mind was on her singing. In the shower, I pictured her with me, naked and wet and smiling up at me with sparkling eyes. When I picked lunch up from the Filthy Flamingo, I remembered how her eyes danced, taking in the string lights across the ceiling.

After she played guitar for me, I wanted to kiss her so fucking badly. The way her nipples pinched under her top has been tormenting me for days. I can’t remember the last time I was so attracted to a woman.

I am so fucked.

I catch myself—I’m not fucked. I’m fine. I’ve trained with the best sports psychologists in the world, and I know how to block out distractions. Pippa isn’t an option. She’s not part of the plan, and there’s no room to slip, because if Pippa and I start messing around, I have an ugly feeling that we won’t be able to stop.

One of the sports psychologists in New York liked to appeal to my competitive nature. Challenge yourself, she’d say. Keeping my distance from Pippa—my high school crush, the girl I can’t seem to say no to—is proving to be a challenge. Nothing I can’t handle, though.

I remember the smile that grew on her face as she kept playing and singing, like she was proud and surprised. My heart twists and I rub my sternum over my hockey pads. Fucking hell, she was so beautiful, and knowing she was afraid to do it made me so proud.

I hope she knows she isn’t broken. I hope she realizes what she’s capable of.

She’s here again tonight with my mom. Sparks pop in my chest at the idea of Pippa watching my game. Maybe biting her plush bottom lip in tense moments.

“Streicher.”

My head snaps up. Ward and everyone else in the change room are staring at me.

“You okay?” Ward tilts his chin at where I’m rubbing my sternum.

I let my hand drop. “Yeah.” I nod. “Fine.”

On the way to the ice, he pulls me aside.

“Is tonight going to be a problem?” he asks as the other players shuffle past. Music pumps in the arena as players hit the ice to warm up.

Shit. My distraction with Pippa is written all over my face. Get it together, Streicher. I shake my head. “Nope.”

Ward studies my face. “Don’t let Miller get in your head.” He glances around, waiting until the equipment manager steps out of the hall. “I know you guys have history.”

My thoughts screech to a halt. Rory Miller was traded to Calgary recently. I knew this and I completely forgot.

That is how bad this thing with Pippa is. I forgot that the guy I grew up with, who used to be my best friend until he turned into a total fucking asshole, is going to be on the ice tonight.

I frown at Ward. “How do you know about that?”

“It’s my job.”

Seven years into his career, Miller has a reputation for partying, girls, and being a fucking asshole on the ice. As he developed into an incredible right winger, his ego grew. Coaches keep him around because he scores goals, but he’s far from a fan favorite.

I hate playing against him. Calgary’s one of the closest teams to Vancouver, geographically, so we play them six times this season.

He has one of the best scoring averages in the league, and he’s going to be slapping pucks at me all night. This is the kind of thing I should have been thinking about all week, preparing and reviewing game tape.

“You’ve played with him,” Ward says. “You know his weaknesses?”

Miller’s the star. Always has been, since we were kids. He’s the most competitive person I’ve ever met. We never would have been friends if I wasn’t a goalie.

I think back to past games. He doesn’t listen to the coach’s plays. The starting line will think they’re running a certain play, and Miller will take it off the rails for the chance to score. And because he often succeeds, he gets away with it.

I know to keep my eye on him, even if his teammates are setting up for a different formation. I know not to trust him.

I nod at Ward. “Yeah. I know him.”

“Good.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Let’s get out there and have a great game.”

I hit the ice, and the back of my neck prickles. On the other half of the rink, our opponents warm up, skating and shooting pucks at the goalie. The arena’s already packed, brimming with energy.

Rory Miller’s standing there, wearing a smug, cocky grin that makes me want to hit him. He tilts his head, turns, and skates for the net, sinking the puck in before he spins around. His smile stretches from ear to ear, and my gut seizes up with irritation.

He’s trying to get to me. This is what he does.

I head to my net, centering myself. In front of the goal posts, I warm up, and my gaze locks with Pippa’s. She’s sitting behind the net with my mom and my mom’s friend.

Pippa’s wearing a Vancouver Storm hat. I blink, staring at her in it, and those sparks ignite in my chest all over again.

She lights up, lifting her hand in a quick, shy wave that makes the corner of my mouth tip up. I wave back, and the frustration I felt moments before melts away. She points at her hat, and I nod, letting myself smile at her. I like seeing her in my team’s gear.

Beside her, my mom is chatting away, smiling. She says something to Pippa, who nods and laughs. My mom likes Pippa and asks about her every time I call, and I like that, too.

I like that after the game, Pippa and Daisy will be at home.

The whistle blows and the third period starts. My blood pumps hard as Calgary takes the puck.

Pippa’s gaze rests on my shoulders like a blanket, calming me, keeping me focused. I’ve blocked every shot, and the fans are chanting Streicher shut out.

Their left winger passes to Miller, who swings around Owens. He’s on a breakaway with the puck, skating hard, eyes on me. That fucking smug smirk on his face. His team gets in position, but I ignore them.

He’s frustrated. His smug smile is forced. I’m getting to him. He showed up here tonight to score against me, to prove something to me, maybe that he doesn’t need me or that I’m just another player to him.

His gaze flicks to something behind me, and his eyes go wide in surprise.

Pippa. My heart stops. He knew I had a thing for her in high school. I never told him, but he knew.

By the time I realize what he’s done, the fans are groaning in disappointment and the puck is in the net.

Miller skates past me with a catlike smile. The fans boo him, and he turns that grin on them, which riles them up more. My stomach sinks, my teeth grit, but I shove all the thoughts away as the game resumes.

I was focused on his weaknesses when mine sits right behind me.

We win, and after the coach reviews the game in the change room, I shower and head upstairs to the box.

My heart stops when I see Rory fucking Miller grinning down at Pippa, predatory gaze locked on her. He says something, she laughs, and he grins wider, stepping closer to her.

Primal protectiveness rises in me. It’s not uncommon for players from the other team to visit the box, especially if they have friends or family on the opposing team. I sure as fuck don’t like him being here, though, talking with her. My teeth grit, and I’m in front of him, placing myself between them, staring him down.

His dark blond hair is still damp, and he’s in his suit. Is he trying to fucking impress her or something?

He eyes me with smug amusement. “There he is.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I bite out, glaring at him.

His grin broadens, and I want to fucking kill him.

“Just catching up with the lovely Pippa,” he says before gesturing over his shoulder, where my mom, her friend, and Ward are talking. “And I wanted to say hi to Donna.”

“I was telling Rory how I work as your assistant now.” Pippa gives him a shy smile, and my glare intensifies.

I don’t like her smiling for him.

“And you guys live together,” Rory adds, narrowing his eyes at us.

My skin crawls. He sees right fucking through me.

“Don’t talk to her,” I snap, and people in the vicinity glance over at my tone.

He has the fucking audacity to laugh. “Buddy.”

At my sides, my hands make fists. My pulse whooshes in my ears. On the ice, this is all fair game, but up here? With my—

With my assistant, I remind myself, dragging in a deep breath.

“I should get going,” he tells Pippa, smiling down at her like he’s found buried treasure. “Early flight tomorrow. Great seeing you again, Pippa. Maybe next time, you can show me around Vancouver.”

She laughs. “You’re from here.”

His eyes sparkle. “I’m sure the city’s changed in a decade. And I’d love to keep catching up.” His gaze slides to mine, and the suggestive undertones make my blood roar.

No fucking way.

He tilts a grin at me. “Maybe you’ll get your Streicher shut out next time, huh?” Miller walks away before I can respond, waving at a few people before disappearing out the door.

Before I can say anything else, Owens is in front of us, slapping my shoulder. I try not to flinch.

“Great fucking game, bud.”

“Thanks.” My tone is terse.

I just want to get home, get the fuck out of here. Maybe Pippa will play another song for me tonight.

Pippa shoots Owens a sympathetic smile. He took a puck to the ankle in the second period. “How’s your ankle, Hayden?”

For some reason, when she smiles at him, it doesn’t cut as much. Maybe because my gut tells me he’s a good guy, and he’s this friendly to everyone.

He reaches down to lift his pant leg, showing her the red welt and growing bruise. “Pretty gross, but I’ll live.” He puffs out his chest in an exaggerated way. “I’m tough, Pippa.”

She laughs. “Okay.”

A couple of the players are at the door. One of them waves to Owens and he makes a one moment gesture.

“We’re going out,” he tells us, and unlike Miller, he’s not just talking to Pippa. He points at me. “Coach said you had to hang out with us.”

I roll my eyes with a snort, but I can’t argue. In every practice, Ward brings up team building and bonding and has called me out specifically a few times. Even though my blood is still rushing after the game and I won’t sleep for hours, I don’t feel like going out.

I just want to hang out with Pippa. Maybe we can watch a movie at home.

Pippa’s smile is hopeful, and her eyes are bright. “What do you say? Do you want to blow off some steam?”

My eyebrow arches. “You actually want to go?” I tilt my chin at the players congregating by the door. “With them?”

She shrugs, and her sheepish smile is so cute. “Yeah, I do.”

Owens isn’t an asshole like Miller, but I still don’t want a bunch of single hockey players circling Pippa like sharks.

“Come on.” Owens punches me lightly in the stomach, and I push him off with a snort. This guy is like Daisy in human form, excited and full of energy.

In an instant, my mind changes. I want to see this girl outside the walls of my apartment. I want to see her laughing and having fun.

I nod once. “Okay.”

Pippa lights up, and I can’t look away. “Great.”