Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
3
Maverick
I glance at the clock on the scoreboard. We’re midway through the third period and the game is tied. The energy in the arena feels like a living, breathing entity. It’s always like this when we play the Rattlers. East Town University is only forty-five minutes away, so it’s an easy trip for their fans to make. One side of the arena is a sea of orange and black, while the other is white and light blue. This is our team’s biggest conference rival, and both sets of fans are rabid for a win.
If we don’t pull one off tonight, there’ll be hell to pay.
And yet…
As much as we have riding on the line, I can’t stop thinking about the pretty blonde in the stands near the glass and the way our gazes caught as I checked River Thompson into the boards.
Fuck, but taking him out like that in the first period had been a pure pleasure.
The guy’s been out for payback ever since.
Bring it on, asshole.
Bring.
It.
On.
I’m sure he was pissed that I made him look like a pussy in front of his girl.
My heart stutters for a handful of seconds before pounding into overdrive.
Is that what she is? His girl?
The thought burrows beneath my skin like an incurable rash. I send another look her way, only to find her watching me.
Good.
I want her attention focused on me the entire time she’s wearing Thompson’s jersey.
Even though I don’t know who she is or what her name is, I want to tear the damn thing from her body.
My hands clench in my gloves in order to stop myself from crawling over the plexiglass and doing exactly that.
I glance at her again.
She’s like a ray of sunshine with the way her golden hair tumbles around her shoulders. I’m having a difficult time concentrating on the reason we’re here.
The game.
I swear under my breath as River manages to get around me and score a goal.
Motherfucker.
The girl wearing his jersey leaps to her feet and claps. Happiness radiates from her in intoxicating waves. It infuriates me that she’s cheering for the one guy I can’t fucking stand.
When her gaze flicks to mine again, her eyes widen.
A shoulder bumps mine, and I reluctantly break eye contact only to find Ryder McAdams frowning at me.
“You okay, man? It’s not like you to let Thompson fake you out like that.”
Fuck.
He’s right.
I’m distracted when I should be laser focused on getting my job done, and that’s never happened before.
Hockey has been my number one priority since I was old enough to lace up my own Bauers. I’m so damn close to making all my dreams come true. After this season wraps up, I just have to make it through senior year and then I’ll be free to sign my contract with Boston. Hell, if I could convince my parents to let me do it early, I’d quit school in a heartbeat and head straight to the NHL.
Although, I won’t hold my breath for that.
Every time I mention the possibility, they shoot it down, refusing to discuss the situation. I’m not sure why it’s so damn important I earn a degree. After I’m done playing hockey, I’ll end up working for my father’s sports agency.
I blink back to the present. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
It’s carefully that he searches my eyes.
Apparently satisfied with what he finds, he claps me on the shoulder. “Good. Let’s shut these guys down. If we don’t, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
With a nod, we take our positions at the blue line as Hayes gets ready for the faceoff. As soon as the puck gets dropped, Hayes knocks it to Colby McNichols, who races up the ice before passing it to Ford Hamilton. It goes back and forth as defensemen swarm. At every turn, the Rattlers attempt to regain possession before Ford scores through the five hole. In true Ford fashion, he grins at the stands, and I know he’s looking straight at his girlfriend.
The game is now tied with less than two minutes on the clock.
The energy in the arena turns frenetic. Under normal circumstances, I’m able to block out the screaming fans and focus solely on the job that needs to get done.
That’s not the case this evening.
And it has everything to do with the hot little blonde.
It’s impossible to shake the heat of her gaze as I skate across the ice.
This time, when the puck is dropped, Hayes loses the faceoff. The Rattler’s right wing scoops it up and takes off. From the corner of my eye, I keep an eye on River. I know his teammate will pass to him, and I’ll be damned if I allow him to score for a second time.
I skate closer, making sure to keep him in my periphery. I’m not giving him one damn inch. The wing with the puck glances at their center, as if he’ll pass to him. Just as I back off, he flicks his wrist in the other direction.