Juicy Rebound (IceCats 1)

“Sorry, you can only cheer for me,” he says with a wink before kissing the side of my mouth. He wraps his arm around my neck, and while I’d rather not go to a hockey rink, I’m glad I am going with him.

Once inside, he takes me downstairs to show me the locker rooms and players’ room. I grew up in places like these. We were always at the rink with my uncle Shea, which was why Ryan wanted to be a professional player. He didn’t make it, but he’s still a part of the NHL as an awesome trainer. The reason Shelli knows so much is because she cared to know all this. She thrived on it because it connected her with her dad, my uncle. In a family of five kids, she wanted to stand out. She wanted to be my uncle’s favorite, and some would say she succeeded.

As with my uncle, Ryan, and every other hockey player I know, the excitement of being here is apparent on Chandler’s face. He is basically shaking with eagerness. He talks about everything like it’s the best thing in the world, and I love his enthusiasm. This is his second home, his first love, and I don’t have to be a fan to know that. It’s all over his face, in his demeanor as he shows me around. I didn’t think I’d enjoy being here, but I do. I enjoy seeing him so happy.

As he reaches for two pairs of skates, two pairs of gloves, and sticks, he looks at me. “You know how to skate?”

“Can I lie and say I don’t so you’ll hold me out there the whole time?”

He shrugs. “I was gonna do that anyway.”

“Awesome.” I take the smaller pair of skates from him and sit down to put them on. “I was wondering why you were looking in my shoes.”

He gives me a sneaky grin. “Had to make sure to get the right size.”

While I lace up my skates, a grin is sitting on my lips. The coolness from the rink is rushing into the little tunnel, and I shiver a bit.

“You cold?”

“Yeah, I should have grabbed a hoodie.”

He reaches behind him and hands me an IceCats number twenty-three hoodie.

I raise a brow. “Really?”

He tries to hold back his grin. “For when you come to my games.”

I roll my eyes, even though his actions please me immensely. Once we’re laced up, we hit the ice. We meet at center ice, and he drops the puck.

“Now, I’m going to win, but it’s okay. For every goal I score, I’ll kiss you.”

I snort. “You make it seem like a treat for me,” I accuse, and he grins. “And just to inform you, I was taught how to play by Shea Adler. So yeah, we’ll see who wins.”

The challenge is in his eyes, and I know mine mirror his. Like Ryan and I did when we were kids, Chandler and I tap our sticks to the ice four times then tap each other’s sticks before we fight for the puck. I win it back and skate away as I hold the puck at the end of my stick. The surprised look on his face excites me.

“Told you.”

He just laughs as I dig in, going around him, but he’s right there. He’s gentle, but he’s way more skilled than I am, and soon he comes out with the puck. He’s also fast as hell, which is totally unfair.

“I don’t do cardio!” I yell at him as he scores for the third time.

He comes toward me, the puck on the edge of his stick as he balances it like it’s nothing. It turns me on watching how talented he is, which is surprising. Instead of loathing this sport like I have for the last couple years, I find myself having fun.

But I think that’s due to Chandler.

When he reaches me, he kisses me on the lips. “Up your cardio game, and maybe you, too, can score.”

I glare, and he just grins as we fight for the puck once more. I’ve been skating since I was a toddler, so this is second nature to me. I dig in, trying to get around him, but he’s right there. I turn, pressing my ass into his groin, which distracts him for a second before I shoot hard toward the net. When it goes in, I throw my hands up. What I didn’t expect was for my stick to come up and catch Chandler right in the nose. I cry out as he holds his nose, groaning while blood spills out.

“Ack!” I exclaim as I drop my stick, trying to help him. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

We get him to the bench, and I rush to the spot where I know they keep towels for incidents like this. I replace his hands with the towel, stepping between his legs. I hold the towel there, my heart pounding as panic eats me whole. I’m shaking as I hold him. He doesn’t seem mad, but what if he is?