All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(59)

What can I say? I’m a sucker for the Seattle Ice Hawks. And lately, I have a bit more of an extra interest in one Hawk, in particular. All six feet, four inches of him, standing in the middle of the goal, his game face barely visible through his mask. Owen Parrish, number twenty-two on the ice and number one in my heart.

All right, I may be a bit biased, based on the fact that he’s also my boyfriend, but Owen is hands down the hottest player in the league. He’s also one of the best goaltenders to ever skate across the ice. To say I’m proud would be a massive understatement.

“Get ’em, Brady!” Elise cheers through her mouthful of soft pretzel.

Without missing a beat, her boyfriend shoots a slap shot past the other team’s center, scoring his third goal of the game and increasing our lead by yet another point.

The crowd is going absolutely nuts. We’re laying waste to Boston tonight, and as long as our defense keeps it up and Owen doesn’t lie down in the goal for the rest of the game, we’ll be able to count this game as another win.

Boston calls a time-out, probably so their coach can wipe away a few of the players’ tears, and Elise snaps her head my way.

“Are you coming out for drinks after to celebrate? I already reserved us a private room at the bar across the street.”

“We haven’t won yet,” I remind her, searching around for some wood to knock on but finding none. I don’t want to jinx it.

“Haven’t we, though?” She gestures toward the scoreboard just as music starts thumping through the stadium, keeping the crowd pumped up through the time-out.

She’s right. There’s only about three minutes of game time left, but I’ve learned in hockey a lot can happen in three minutes. I pinch a piece off of Elise’s pretzel and pop it into my mouth.

She scoffs in fake offense. “Get your own!”

“I’m stress eating,” I joke, shooting her my best puppy-dog eyes as I lick salt off my fingertip.

What can I say? They have the best soft pretzels here. And a little something in my stomach might not be such a bad thing if we’re getting drinks after this. Provided we don’t somehow blow this lead.

Elise chuckles, tearing off another bite for me. “I don’t mind sharing. Unlike a certain brother of mine, who hoards his food like his life depended on it.”

My memory flashes back to cooking breakfast with Owen in my kitchen this morning as I gave him a pep talk for tonight’s game. I cracked six eggs into the pan for him and he still looked at me wide eyed, like I was trying to starve him or something. I rolled my eyes but added two more.

“Yeah, I think I value my life too much to stand between Owen and his food,” I say with a giggle.

“Justin is the same way.” Elise’s eyes shift back to the ice as the time-out ends and the boys skate back out onto the ice. “He needs every last calorie he can get. I think if I could have any superpower, it would be the metabolism of a hockey player.”

We both laugh, and I’m suddenly grateful beyond words for Elise’s friendship.

Sure, I live and breathe hockey every day at my job, but dating a player is a totally different thing. And having a friend who understands what that’s like is a total godsend. I have someone to commiserate with about away games, crazy practice schedules, and all the other not-so-glamorous parts of dating a professional athlete. It also means having someone who understands that, even with all those things, it’s always worth it.

“Three! Two! One!” We chant along with the crowd as the timer zeroes out and the buzzer sounds, signaling a Hawks victory.

Yes! We’re going to the playoffs . . . twice in two years.

Elise and I screech and jump to our feet, hugging and jumping in celebration. Down on the ice, the boys are slapping each other on the back and slamming their chests together. Justin and Teddy shake their hockey sticks over their heads, and Morgan, the rookie goalie, skates onto the ice and collides with Owen in a huge bro hug.

Our boys did it. We’ve always known they were the best, but tonight they proved it.

Elise turns my way, pointing a thumb toward the exit. “Wanna head to the bar before the fans overrun the place?”

I nod, snatching up my purse and following her through the stadium and over to our favorite bar and grille across the street. The post-game footage is playing on every TV in the place, and fans in Hawks jerseys are all still slamming back beers and high-fiving one another. If only they knew who will be walking through the door in the next half hour.

The hostess’s eyes light up in acknowledgment when she spots us, clearly recognizing our faces. Just another perk of running with a recognizable crowd.

“You’re with the team, right?” she asks, excitement bubbling in her voice as she snags a stack of menus. “We’ve got your room all ready for you.”

I hit up the group chat to let Sara, Bailey, and the boys know that we’ve arrived as we follow the hostess to the back of the bar and through a set of double doors. The private room is dimly lit with a spread of ice buckets full of champagne and rows of champagne flutes on every table. I guess the bar staff were just as confident as Elise was about the Hawks winning tonight.

Elise and I get started on a bottle, and Sara and Bailey show up briefly after, helping us pop open a few more as the team starts filtering in.

One by one, they roll in, each of them dressed in a suit and rocking the biggest, proudest smile. Justin is one of the last to show up, with Owen following right behind him.