Face Off (D.C. Stars, #1)

by Chelsea Curto

“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers. I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?” “You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”

Hartwell’s hockey skills are on a different planet, and I think I might be a little bit in love with her. I’ve never seen anyone play like that, and I have no fucking clue how she’s not already on an NHL roster.

A smile—the tiniest, faintest smile I’ve ever seen—pulls at her lips, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world. I want to set off a confetti cannon. Hang a banner from the rafters of the Civic Center that says I MADE EMERSON HARTWELL SMILE. Put it on a T-shirt and wear it around town.

That earns me another half smile from her, and I want to collect them all. Shove them in my pocket and keep them for myself.

Emerson snorts, and something sharp slices through me at the sound. I don’t like that he’s making her laugh. I don’t like that she thinks he’s funny, and I liked it better when it was just the two of us.

I’ve always considered myself a feminist, but there’s something so goddamn sexy about a man in a backwards hat that has me ready to drop to my knees for the patriarchy.

“Women are loving cowboys in romance novels lately. They probably love them in real life too.”

I managed to not get thrown off the balcony and I made her laugh. Twice. Hat trick for me.

“You said you wanted me on my knees.” He drops a kiss to my shin, then kneels on the ground in front of me. “And I’ve always liked being a good boy.”

“How did you not notice?” “I don’t know.” He shrugs, and his fingers dance over my knee. “Guess I’ve been too busy looking at you.”

She smiles at me. There are four hundred people are here, and she’s picking me to give out her smiles to. I’m the luckiest bastard in this room.

I never really felt like I had a home. But with Emmy next to me, I think home is wherever she is. A place I’d like to stay forever.

I don’t want her as a teammate or someone I fuck multiple times a week. I want her as so much more—a partner. A girlfriend. My best friend. I don’t know if we lose the game or not. I really don’t fucking care, because I’ve already won. I have her, and she’s the greatest prize of all.