Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(36)

“Mount Rushmore!”

“We love you, Rush!”

“Go Arrows!”

I tune it all out. My mind’s eye narrows to right here, right now. For the past half hour, I’ve been warming up, and it’s time to block out everything except for the ice, the net, the players. Not even the loud music or the roar of the fans can pull me out of my mental zone.

My only focus is roughing the surface of the ice, which ultimately offers better control within the crease. I dig in my skates, drop to my knees, adjust my pads. I’m already loose and limber, but I stretch a couple more times for good measure. I’m aware of people moving by me in a blur, skating around and behind the goal, but they won’t matter until the puck drops.

I feel the eyes of the fans on me, and I know they’ll be watching to see what I do, how I do it. I try to forget the fact that every mistake I make will cause a red light to come on announcing my f*ckup. Ultimately, I’m the guy who controls the direction of the game for my team. With a powerful offense, we’ll make goals, but at the same time, their offense will try to score on me. I can’t let that happen.

Focus. Puck, patience. React. Focus. Puck, patience. React.

From this moment on, my only job is to keep the puck out of the net.

And that’s what I intend to do.





Ellie

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that I am a huge hockey fan. Have been all my life. From the time I was a kid and my dad started taking me to hockey games. Though he never made it out of the minor leagues, my dad was one of the best hockey players I’ve ever known. In my opinion, anyway. He was my dad, so maybe I’m a little biased. And I certainly got my love for the sport from him.

I’ll even go so far as to say I am one of those crazy chicks who goes a little overboard at a game. Yes, one of those people. The ones who scream and yell for bad calls and whoop and holler louder than most of the people in the arena. I’ve rightfully earned my fair share of glares.

Tonight’s game is no exception.

And it has nothing to do with the fact that I spent nearly two hours watching Kingston play one of the best games of his career, either. The man is f*cking Mozart on the ice, guarding the goal like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s not. I know. My brother thought it would be funny to let me be the goalie once when we were kids. I ended up with a black eye. And that was from street hockey in the driveway—no skates.

But tonight’s shutout by the Arrows is proof that Kingston rules the ice. Personally, I can hardly manage a free skate without landing on my ass a few times, so watching him shift and dive, keeping that little rubber puck from getting past him, is quite impressive.

No, this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed how great of a player he is. Kingston Rush is by far one of the best goalies in the league. His stats prove it. However, he is also one of the hottest players in the league. The puck bunnies will be the first to attest to that.

So, after our interaction throughout the week at the bar and tonight’s on-ice performance, it’s safe to say I’ve got quite a bit of pent-up sexual energy all thanks to Mount Rushmore, but what sucks most is the fact that I have no way to release it. Pretend is pretend, no matter how you look at it.

While Bianca and I kill some time waiting for my brother to emerge from the locker room, I pull up my Twitter app on my phone. It isn’t that I’m Twitter famous or anything, but I’ve garnered quite the following. Probably more so because I’m Optimus’s sister. People love him. Oh, and perhaps because I own a bar that caters to hockey players. By association, I tend to get a little recognition. Not to mention, my tweets are funny.

For example, the one I posted before the game tonight: It’s good to reevaluate your goals from time to time. Climbing a mountain is still NOT one of my goals.

See? Funny.

But whatever.

It isn’t surprising to see that I’ve got quite a few favorites on my last tweet as well as several retweets. What is surprising is the reply I received. The reply that has over three thousand retweets. Seriously. Three thousand. What the f*ck?

Climbing mountains is good cardiovascular exercise. #isuggestscalingmtrushmore

Scaling Mount Rushmore, huh?

Although I don’t need to, I peek at the Twitter handle: @KingstonRush39

Imagine that.

“Mom?”

I glance from my phone to Bianca to see what she needs, and that’s when I notice there are several reporters coming our direction, determination on their faces as they trek down the long, narrow corridor that leads from the locker rooms. I glance over my shoulder to see if there are any players behind me, fully expecting to see someone who warrants this sort of attention. When I don’t find any, I turn back.

Shit fire.

It is in this moment that what I have considered a relatively normal life flips upside down and sideways.

“Ms. Kaufman, is it true? Are you dating Kingston Rush?”

“Were you aware of Rush’s response to your earlier Tweet?”

“How long have the two of you been together?”

“Do you think you’re the reason for his shutout tonight? Considering how off his games were last season?”

“Is the relationship serious?”

The questions are like slap shots, one right after the other, taking me by surprise. My brain can’t process them long enough for me to formulate any sort of response. I don’t know what to do, but when Bianca backs up against me, it occurs to me that I need to get her out of here quickly.