When the puck was back in play, Johnson was able to stop it in the center, but Winnipeg wanted once last gasp. Their captain was strong, but Forshev, the Rush’s goalie, was stronger. He deflected the puck while Bogdan took out their left wing.
The sound of the buzzer filled the barn and the fans erupted. Feet slammed the floor, voices roared in support. The noise was deafening.
And Anders had a fleeting feeling that it would have been nice for Olivia to see it, but then relief that she hadn’t. He’d needed every ounce of focus during the game, and he’d had a couple of moments when his mind had drifted back to how it felt to kiss her in her kitchen. How her body had pressed up against his. How easy it had been to slide his hands into the back pockets of her jeans and pull her up against his erection, so she was left in no doubt about how he felt about her.
Even skating around the rink, crashing deliberately into his teammates to knock helmets or roughhouse as they circled the ice to thank fans, he was having an episode of cold feet. This was what he’d worried about. Thinking about her more than the game.
But then, even if he hadn’t seen her and spoken to her and made the agreement that they had, he’d likely still be thinking about her. She was positively unforgettable.
He made his way to the locker room with the rest of the guys in need of a post-game workout, food, and a shower. Once home and settled on the sofa with an ice pack on his knee, popcorn, and a replay of The Lord of the Rings, he checked his phone. Olivia had messaged him ten minutes earlier, congratulating him on the team’s win.
Wait, it was nearly midnight. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick response.
Thanks. What are you doing awake so late?
Pulling together contracts for some events. Nothing exciting. You?
Just got home from the game, getting comfortable.
Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.
Anders laughed softly. It had felt a little lonely coming back to an empty house. Interestingly, her message had made him feel a little less alone.
You’re a welcome interruption, älskling.
What does that mean?
Darling, I guess. A term of endearment.
Dots bounced on the bottom of his screen for a moment.
I like it.
He was shit at texting. Messaging someone was about as intimate as a car crash. Abbreviated words, zero grammar, no nuance. Every single person he knew preferred it as a way of communicating, but then, perhaps he just didn’t really like chatting with people at all. But he wanted to talk to Olivia.
Do you need to get work done or can I call you?
Again, dots bounced on the screen and he found himself anxious for her reply. Hell, even Liv Tyler’s fleeting appearance on the TV didn’t distract him from the dots.
Sure.
He dialed her number and rubbed his palm down his jeans.
“Hey,” she said cheerfully, peppier than he felt, although his heart had raced unexpectedly as the phone rang.
“Hey, yourself. Have you been working all evening?”
“No. I stopped to watch the game. How do you think it went?”
How did he feel it went? They won. Something deep inside him said he should let that be enough. But it was too close. Winnipeg was a strong team. His guess was Denver would end up facing off against them in the playoff series. He’d need to review the files of his game when the performance analysts sent them through. “We won by a whisker, and that’s not how you win the cup.”
“I’m pretty sure winning game after game adds up to winning the cup, though.”
Anders muted a thunderous battle scene that had erupted on the screen. “True. But winning the game shouldn’t be a coin toss. There’s a lot you can do to increase the odds.”
Olivia sounded as though she was moving around. He heard the clink of cutlery and water running. She was likely in the kitchen, where he’d kissed her. And damn, if the thought of her lips on his didn’t juice him up when he should be winding down.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I just put away the dishes, turned off the light, and am heading to my bedroom. Tell me a bedtime story about all the things you can do to increase the odds of winning a hockey game. I’ll either learn something, or it will be a sedative.”
“Funny. If you are getting in bed, does that mean you’re naked?”
“Want me to lie to you and tell you that I am?”
Anders shook his head. “No. Don’t ever lie to me, and I won’t lie to you.”
“Fine, I’m in a pair of old, plaid pajamas that I got during undergrad.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m in an old pair of shorts and have an ice pack on my knee.”
“Ouch. Want me to kiss it better?”
He ran his hand over his jaw. “I could make that happen. Where else would you like to kiss?”
“Stop,” she spluttered. “Don’t start that over the phone. I need to wind down. Tell me about how to increase the chances of winning.”
Anders switched off the movie, tossed the ice pack into the popcorn bowl, and made his way upstairs. If she was in bed, he might as well be. “First thing you do is review footage of your opponent. It helps you see their plays, helps you see each player’s preference. Does he dummy on the way to goal? Is he a team player? Does he pass the puck? Or does he keep the puck close? In a tight corner, who does he usually pass it to? Which player is always able to find space on the ice? Who is the weak link in their defense? If you can decode the way the opposition plays, you can play against it.”
“How can you keep all that straight in your head when you play so many different teams each month?”
As she spoke, he whipped his hoodie over his head. He wore nothing beneath it. “It’s my job to know. But really, the focus is your own game, how you play. Before each game, we have a series of strategies to play against the team. Those have to be rock solid, with plays practiced a million times.”
He heard the rustle of covers and took a moment to slip off his shorts. There were other things he should do. Take a piss. Brush his teeth. Close the curtains. Right now, his focus was on Olivia, imagining her snuggling beneath the covers as he climbed under his.
“This bed would be a lot warmer if you were in it,” Olivia whispered.
He shivered as the cool sheets hit his body. “I was just thinking the same thing.” Anders glanced at the time on his phone. It was way too late to suggest blowing off the rules of five dates and fixing the problem. Plus, that wasn’t the point. He knew he could get her into bed. Finding common ground out of it was more important.
Anders reached down and rearranged his dick, which was getting interested in the conversation. It didn’t matter what it thought, he was sticking to his end of the bargain. “Swing by tomorrow and we’ll talk about those dates, älskling.”
Olivia sighed. “That sounds like a great idea. Now tell me more about those plays.”
And he did, until he heard the funny little sighs that told him she was asleep.
6
Olivia walked up the driveway to the house that looked as though it could have graced the cover of Architectural Digest. Pale gray sidings, white trim, columns holding up a balcony on the upper floor that overlooked the park. She’d not thought about Anders’s income, but given he played in the country’s top hockey league, she guessed it must be high. As the sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, the sky was cast in shades of gold and purple. Lights were on inside, casting an inviting glow through the windows.