Operation B-Blitz Rush

Holden

Game day heats up not just on the ice but in the stands too. As Holden spots Britt rocking his nickname on her jersey, his heart does a full-on slapshot out of his chest. The scene? Electric. The vibe? Charged with more than just fan energy, especially when a rogue puck turns him into an impromptu hero. Watch as our hockey hunk dodges pucks and captures kisses, navigating the tricky ice of public affection with the finesse of a seasoned pro. So, Slammer fans, grab your jerseys and hold on to your hearts—because in my town, even a bruise can spark a moment worth cheering for.

Playlist: "Hit You From Behind" by Limited Warranty

Britt is wearing a Slammers' jersey.

I'm on the ice when I see her in the stands for the first time, although the game hasn't started yet. It's a good thing, too, because my heart pulls some erratic Bugs Bunny shit and tries to burst its way out of my chest right through my ribs.

"Is she wearing my number?" I whisper.

Shep follows my gaze. Britt has been deep in conversation with Tierney, but when she sees us staring, she grins and waves.

"Do you think she's wearing my number?" I whisper.

The sight hits like a slapshot to the chest. Britt, donning my jersey with my number emblazoned across it—it sends my adrenaline spiking. It's a declaration, bold and public, her in my colors, my number. As I stand next to my friend unable to take my eyes off her, every nerve feels electric, every glance up at her stokes the fire. This is new, at least to me, and it's a shot of raw energy. She's here, my girl, claiming her spot in my world, and damn, I'm ready to prove I'm worth that jersey.

"Oh, man." Shep rubs his gloved hands together and jabs at me with one elbow. "She totally is. Congratulations, bro! Way to hit it and not quit it!"

I beam up at Britt as she gets to her feet and turns away from us, revealing the back of her jersey.

It's my number, all right, but something's off. I squint up at the word printed where my name ought to be.

"Express?" Shep asks.

That's what it says, all right. Britt isn't the only one wearing it, either. I look around the stands and spot at least a dozen people wearing the same thing.

"Heath?" I ask. It's the first time that I've hoped I have a concussion and am seeing things. "Why are people wearing jerseys with my number and Express for the name?"

Heath's parents run the local screen printing business. I don't know if he was in on this plan, but when he sees what I'm looking at, he just grins. "I thought that was obvious."

"One time, I get called that…"

"Good names stick," Heath says. "And when they stick, we run with it. All part of the new marketing strategy."

"Especially when your parents make shirts for it. Gah." Of course, my dad would be in the crowd today. He waves to me, then gestures to his shirt and laughs.

Great. Of course, he bought an Express shirt, too. A pang of guilt shoots through me—I haven't made much time for him this week, what with the whole Britt situation. I'm not sure what I'd tell him, either. Calling her a hookup would mean leaving out a lot of my feelings, but my dad has enough to deal with already. He doesn't need me bogging him down with my romantic delusions.

I wave back and give him a thumbs-up, then turn my attention back to Heath. "I don't suppose I get one of those shirts?"

"I can have them make one for you. You can swing by to pick it up whenever you want."

"I have to pick it up?" If I'm going to be the butt of this joke, I should at least get some free merch out of it, not more work.

Heath flashes me a cheeky grin. "Would you feel better if you thought of it as delivering it to yourself?"

"No. I wouldn't. Thanks." I really need to get better friends.

Tierney gets up, too, and leads Britt down to the plexiglass. Declyn breaks from the group and skates over to give his wife a kiss, much to the delight of the crowd. Archie and Mickey wolf-whistle into their mics, then offer a play-by-play that will be broadcast not only over the ancient stadium speakers but over the radio as well.

"Give me a minute," I tell Shep. The rest of the team is warming up, but I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to kiss Britt.

I pass Declyn just as he maneuvers away from the wall. "Do I get a lucky kiss, too?" I ask Britt.

She taps one finger against her bottom lip and pretends to think it over. "I don't know. Who do you usually kiss?"

"No one." It's true, I've never kissed anyone on the ice before a game. I've never wanted people to know that I care about someone so much.

Still, she hesitates. "I thought sports people were superstitious. Like… if you change it up, you mess with your mojo or something."

"New season, new me. Come on, Britt. Kiss me. While you're here."

It's the qualifier that does it. As long as I acknowledge the expiration date on this thing between us, she still has an out. It stings my pride just a little, but I don't want to make her feel trapped, and I keep hoping that if I'm patient and don't crowd her, she'll come around. Like a stray cat.

Note to self: never admit to Britt the comparison ever crossed my mind.

"Fine. You win." Britt leans over to kiss me, and a few people wolf-whistle and cheer. I'm enjoying the moment when more shouts draw my attention. I spin on the spot just in time to see a puck hurtling toward us, where the glass has been pulled for family time during warmups.

I don't stop to think. As soon as I see that puck flying our way, I put myself between Britt and danger.

The next thing I feel is a blinding bolt of pain.

* * *

"Does it still hurt?" Britt asks.

I lie face-down on my bed and groan when she prods my buttock experimentally with one finger. "Yeah."

"That's a huge bruise." She pokes it again. "I thought you wore all kinds of padding and stuff."

"Yeah, well, we're not usually getting hit in the butt by a rogue projectile." I hiss when something cold settles on my bruise. "Where did you find an ice pack?"

"I didn't. But there was this bag of peas in your fridge that had Sharpie on it that said Do Not Eat, and I just assumed…"

"It's cheaper than an ice pack, especially if you reuse them."

Britt shudders. "Yeah, but if the label rubs off, you might find yourself eating butt-peas for dinner some night."

I snort. "Don't tell the guys. Next thing you know, they'll be printing up jerseys that say Butt-Peas, and I'll have to quit the team in shame."

"They probably would," Britt agrees. She settles down beside me and kisses my cheek. "It was sweet, Holden. How you rushed in to save me."

"It was just a puck."

"Yeah, but still. Take the compliment." She kisses me, and I let all my tension drain away. The ache in my butt-cheek fades as the ache in my groin intensifies.

Britt's cheeks are flushed when she pulls away, despite the awkward angle of our kiss. "I should put the peas back in the freezer…"

"Fuck the peas," I grunt. I lob the partially thawed bag of peas onto the top of my dresser and pull Britt closer. She gasps when I press the already hardening length of my cock against her belly.

Britt giggles and squirms as I kiss my way along her neck. "You're injured."

When her head dips against my chest, I take a deep draw. "Not too injured for this. Shit, I just played an entire game with a battered ass."

"That's not what I mean." She pushes my shoulder, and I roll onto my back. Britt takes a minute to wiggle out of her jeans and panties. Before she straddles me, she reaches for the bedside drawer and retrieves a condom.

"Are you going to keep the jersey on?" I ask.

Britt's eyes sparkle. "You don't like when I wear your number?"

She has a point there, although I have mixed feelings about the Express thing. More to the point, it blocks my view. "I like your tits, too," I tell her.

Britt pulls her arms through the sleeves and shimmies around for a moment. Then, somehow, her bra's off, discarded with the same efficiency as the rest of her clothes.

"Wow." I laugh as she slips her arms back through the sleeves. "Smooth move."

"All thanks to a lifetime of practice." Britt guides my hands under the hem of her jersey. "Better?"

"Better," I agree. Her breasts are small, but sensitive, and they're a soft weight against my palms. She hisses when I brush the pads of my thumbs across her nipples.

"Holden—" she begins, but that's all she says before she lowers her mouth to mine. I lick into her mouth, and she chases her tongue with mine.

"Touch yourself," I rasp in between kisses.

Her knuckles bump against my length, and she whines as she fingers herself. She's already wet enough that I can hear each push of her fingers. After a few thrusts, she lets her head roll forward until her forehead rests on my collarbone.

"That's right." I run my fingers through her hair. "Get yourself ready for me, baby."

Still touching herself with one hand, she uses her teeth to open the condom wrapper, then fumbles it down my length. I let my hands slide down to her hips to help support her as she guides the tip of my cock inside her. Inch by inch, she lowers herself onto me.

Her tight sheath milks my length until I moan. "Use me. Take what you need from me."

"Supposed to be… for you…" Britt's eyes flutter closed, and the sigh of pleasure she lets out reverberates through her body and into mine.

I reach up to pinch her nipples, and her eyes fly open. Her back bows.

"You like that?" I ask.

She presses her palms to my chest and lowers herself all the way down, until she's seated against me, supporting her weight on my ribcage. "Do it again."

"It's not a reward," I tell her. "It's a punishment."

Her brow wrinkles for a moment. Then the smile breaks across her face as she realizes what I'm getting at. "Whatever you say, Express."

I roll her nipples between my fingers and buck my hips against hers. Britt drops her hips against mine, forcing me back to the mattress. I've never felt anything quite like it, the way she pushes back, the way she tests me. It's like she's driving me to be better in every way. It's a special kind of turn on. In response, I thrust harder. She drags her fingernails across my chest and down my ribs. I slap my palm across her ass. She pulls my hair. The whole time, she's riding me for all she's worth, until suddenly she drops forward—not to kiss me, but to bite my shoulder.

I didn't understand what we were doing until my bones turn to jelly, and I go limp beneath her, wrecked by the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm of my life. Britt laughs as she reaches between us, and she must have been close because it's only a matter of seconds before the pressure of her fingers against her clit make her tighten around me. I thought I was done, but the pulse of her orgasm pulls another moan from my throat.

"That's right," Britt pants, just before collapsing sideways onto the mattress. "I win."

"Uh huh." I use the last of my strength to roll toward her, brush the hair from her flushed and sweating face, and kiss her. "You win. I'm all yours."

She wraps her arms around my neck. "For now."

Nope. Forever.