37. Natalie

Chapter 37

Natalie

This is fucking nuts.

They’re so fast.

I never realized how fast they move on the ice. Television does not do this game justice.

My fingers twist together nervously as I lean forward in my seat, watching the action unfold right in front of me.

A Sleet player takes a shot, but it gets deflected, and then one of the Vegas players steals control of the puck.

He breaks away back down the ice toward the Sleet goal.

The goalie, something LeBlanc, centers himself, bending his knees so he’s lowered and covering as much of the net as possible.

How they move so quickly in all that gear, I’ll never understand.

The arena gets to their feet.

The crowd is screaming, hoping for their player to score.

I’m on my feet too, hands pressed together in front of my chest, hoping our guy stops him.

And then I see it.

Luke.

I step closer to the glass.

He’s flying over the ice.

Catching up to the Vegas player.

I want to yell for him to hurry, scream at him to get there, but an odd mix of emotions strangles my lungs. I can’t get a sound out.

There are only feet between them.

They’re almost to the goal.

The Sleet goalie is getting lower, moving side to side, preparing.

The Vegas player pulls his stick back to take the shot.

It’s one-on-one.

But then Luke is there. And his stick hits the puck before Vegas can, deflecting it to the side.

No shot on goal.

The Vegas fans groan in disappointment, and I have the ridiculous urge to cry.

This is too intense.

A ref blows his whistle for something, and the game pauses.

Dropping back into my seat, I tip my head back and watch the replay of the stopped shot on the jumbo screen above the ice.

Watching it unfold again is just as intense. The camera angle is from above, and the way Luke moves is mesmerizing. And when replay Luke darts his stick out at just the right moment, I nearly cheer, the tightness around my throat finally loosening.

Then the camera cuts to a live shot of Luke.

He’s sitting on the bench. Breathing heavily. And he slides his tongue across his upper lip.

Sweet mother of hockey.

If I wasn’t already sitting, I’d have fallen.

That damn mouth.

I pick up my beer and take a large swallow.

By the end of this game, I’m either going to have a heart condition or ruined panties. Probably both.