The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(32)

He shifted to pull out his wallet and passed me a wad of cash. “Here.”

“No, that’s okay.”

He grabbed my hand, put the money on my palm, and squeezed my fingers around it. “You need money to get a cab to the game.”

“I was going to ask for an advance from Krista.”

His expression darkened. “I’m your husband. You don’t need to ask for money from anyone.”

I’m your husband. That sounded more than weird.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, hating how uneven we felt.

He looked out the windshield. “We didn’t really talk about tonight.”

“Krista said she’d come to the game with me.”

“They are planning something for us after.”

I looked at my hands. I was dreading tonight. “I know.”

He glanced at me. “Krista said we feel like strangers.”

We are strangers. “We don’t know each other.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Things are going to happen, and I need you to just go with it.”

Could the guy get any more cryptic? “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t meet my eye. “Just… don’t fight me. Can you trust me on that?”

Did I have a choice? “Uh, okay.”

Satisfied, he looked back at me. “Thanks. For doing this for me.”

The guy had saved me after my place burned down, bought me thousands of dollars of clothes, housed and fed me and now was pushing money into my hands. I wasn’t sure he should be the one thanking me. “We are helping each other.”

We didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I gathered my bags. “Thanks for the ride. Have fun playing tonight.”

My breath caught in my throat as I witnessed, for the first time in days, a smile spread across his face, making him one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen.

“Thanks, I will.”





*



“Stop fidgeting,” Krista instructed.

I couldn’t help it. The game was about to start and for some reason, I was incredibly nervous. The last time I had attended a game had been over two years ago, and I remembered nothing about it. Now I was attending the game as Mica’s wife, and I felt the pressure of the upcoming party afterward.

“I can’t help it.” I looked down at the black dress pants, high heels, and gorgeous blouse that I wore to work. “How is my outfit?”

She eyed my clothes. “Mica has exceptional taste. You picked the perfect outfit for the party tonight.”

At least I got that right.

She leaned in. “How does it feel to be married?”

I threw her a dark look. “It’s nothing. This is just a platonic roommate situation, remember?”

The lights went out, and the crowd started to scream and cheer. Throbbing music deafened the stadium.

“What number is Mica?” I yelled in Krista’s ear.

She shook her head in amazement. “You’re the worst hockey wife in the world.”

“You know I hate hockey.”

“He’s number 28.”

Through a haze of smoke, the Wolves players streamed onto the ice, circling their half of the rink like Titans about to prepare for battle.

Without seeing his number, and even with their helmets and dark lights, I instantly picked Mica out. In real life, the guy was huge. On the ice, with all his equipment on, he looked like a warrior.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched him skate hard around the back of the net. He picked up a puck with the end of the stick and flipped his stick repeatedly, keeping the puck in the air before dropping it and taking a hard shot at the net. Mica off the ice was beyond attractive. Seeing him on the ice, with thousands of fans screaming for him and his team, made him seem transcendent.

Krista leaned towards me. “How do you feel about your platonic roommate now?”

I couldn’t even speak. For the first time in my life, I finally understood the female hockey fan. It wasn’t about the game or winning; it was all about the raw, unparalleled masculinity of these players.

“Puck bunnies are smarter than I thought.”

She laughed and put her arm around my shoulder. “And you married one of those immortals.”

I felt dazed. And that feeling didn’t fade.

How had I thought I hated hockey? There was a savageness to the game. Players with world-class skills skated hard to beat each other, plowing one another into the boards with a force that shook the Plexiglas. I could sense the camaraderie and exclusiveness of the team, and it was impossible not to want to be part of that. I started to clue in that this was why there were so many fans. Everyone wanted to feel part of the team that skated together on the ice.

In the midst of all that was Mica. The way he played reminded me of that fateful night behind the bar when he had come to my defense. On skates, he took on a different persona. He was fierce and intense, never letting up once during the game. I watched, my hands at my mouth, as he went toe to toe with another player, giving him a piece of his mind while backing the player up against the boards.

“What’s going on?” I asked Krista, my eyes glued to the scene unfolding.

“The other player got too close to our goalie.”

The surrounding crowd roared when Mica shoved the guy hard, nearly taking him off his skates. Two refs, who looked tiny in comparison, bravely waded in to pull Mica away.