She lowered herself to the ground, and my body cried out at the loss of her heat against me. “What. The. Hell. Was. That?” she asked, gasping between words.
“I have no idea.” I could have shrugged it off and told her it was all for Chuck’s benefit, but I didn’t lie. Whatever it had been between us was so demanding it was frightening. I couldn’t even call that chemistry. It was more explosive.
She lifted her hands to her lips and stared at mine.
“Ryleigh…” I moved forward, but she ducked under my arm, shaking her head like she was trying to clear it as she walked away.
She. Walked. Away. Sure, there had been a little stumble in her step, but she was still moving, as where I had leaned back against the support beam to steady myself.
Holy shit. Somehow the girl next door had completely blindsided me.
What the hell was I going to do, now?
6
Ryleigh
“How do you keep up with what each of them are doing?” I asked as I leaned close to London but kept my eyes on the ice.
The drive to Des Moines was only an hour away and totally worth it to watch the sheer epicness happening on the ice right now. I’d never seen a professional hockey game, and while this was just a pick-up game, those were NHL stars shredding the ice down there.
“It’s easy for me,” she said, her eyes tracking her fiancé where he skated before the goal, guarding it from a player who was as fast as lightning heading toward it. Maxim, it was Caspian’s best friend who glided with speed toward the goal right now. “I grew up with it. So it’s natural for me to know the positions, the plays, not to mention I wound up with a career in it.”
“I love that you chased your dream,” I said, smiling at her before returning my eyes to the ice.
“Me too,” she said. “You ever thought about getting back into structural design? You’ve always been stellar at it—”
“I used to,” I cut her off, a knot forming in my chest. “Before my dad passed,” I admitted, and she reached over to squeeze my hand. That was the beautiful thing about being friends with London, it didn’t matter how much time or space separated us, when she was home? It was like no time at all had passed, and she knew I didn’t need to hear another I’m so sorry for your loss. Those words were always appreciated, but I was trying to put myself back together after a year without my mentor, and the silent supportive squeeze she gave me meant everything. “Anyway,” I continued, clearing my throat. “Let’s talk about the most important thing right now.”
London tore her eyes off Jansen, arching a brow at me.
I waved my hand to the ice, pointing at a player shooting in the opposite direction. “I saw that one at the flag football game,” I said, warm shivers racing down my skin that had nothing to do with the guy’s whole terrifying but sexy vibe. Nope, those tremors hadn’t stopped wracking my body since the picnic, since Caspian had claimed my mouth like his life depended on it. And the need churning in my core only amplified any time I brought up the picnic. “They called him Demon?” I managed to bring myself back to the present. The hockey player was massive, even under the helmet, I could see a scowl on his face—the same one he wore yesterday—as if it was a permanent look for the guy. “Please tell me that’s a nickname,” I said, laughing.
“Yes,” London said, smiling. “He’s not as scary as he seems, but he’s earned every inch of that nickname. His real name is Brogan.”
“Ah,” I said. “Demon sounds more intimidating on the ice.”
“Exactly,” London said. “I know you’ve kind of met everyone, but it’s harder when they have the gear on.” She pointed to another player. “That’s Maxim, my soon-to-be brother-in-law.” She shook her head then scanned the ice again. “That’s Axel, the Reapers’ Captain. The guy with ink up to his neck is Cannon. Then Briggs, Hudson, and Sawyer.” She pointed to each in turn, and I nodded.
“I met most of them officially at your shower, but I barely had any facetime with them at the picnic,” I said, watching the ice with a sort of transfixed reverence. I mean, how could they move that fast on the slick surface? “But it’s hard to sort them out now. They’re moving so damn fast.”
London chuckled. “The more you watch, the easier it is to follow.”
My eyes honed in on the one player I absolutely couldn’t mistake for anyone else—Caspian freaking Foster. He was a master on the ice, his muscles working together to propel him faster, harder, and his stick work? Good Lord, the man had the ability to be dominant and graceful at the same damn time. How was that even possible?