Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(41)

And sure enough, they scored on the power play as I hung out in the penalty box. Coach wasn't happy, he benched me the rest of the game, but I knew he wouldn't be when I dropped my gloves. Danny was a player he specifically told me to stay away from tonight.

The problem was a girl was inside my head, and everyone around me was using it to their advantage.

I couldn't deny it. Something about Ami took a big piece of my heart that night in the hospital, and I would stand up for her no matter what, even if it that meant I was sacrificing a game. I wasn't going to stand for this shit anymore.

As a defenseman, it was my job to protect guys like Leo and Remy. It wasn't hard, and if anything, I lived for this.

People asked me all the time why we fought so much in hockey, and they went on to say what a violent sport it is.

Well, clearly those people were watching tennis and had never been to an MMA fight. Regardless, my standard answer was, "Does it make me less of an athlete for protecting players and controlling a game where others are held accountable for their actions?"

They usually shut up after that. I had a job to do. Now that job included a girl, one that I would lay just about anyone out for.

I never worried about what others thought of me. Neither did my dad. He didn't give a hoot about what anyone thought. He was who he was. I liked to think I was a lot like that, too.





Assist – An assist is given to the player who helped set up the scoring goal. It's given to the player who handled the puck preceding the goal.




Evan kept his promise to take me to a live game. It came on Friday night when they played the Vancouver Canucks at the United Center.

Having only been in town since late November, I had never ventured to this part of town and had no idea where the United Center even was.

Glancing around the city, I realized how beautiful it could be. My visions of the city had been tarnished a little, given what happened to me, but I was determined to overcome that and realized it could have happened anywhere.

Downtown Chicago consisted of mostly high rise buildings. It offered a lively uptown scene you didn't see in Oregon. When I first moved here, I was so into dancing and trying to get over the death of my family, I never took a look around the city, other than the few restaurants near Blake's place at Regents Park in the Indian Village.

The thought of Blake made me sick to my stomach. I knew from Evan that Detective Paulsen had questioned him and nothing came from the lead, but the thoughts were still there that he could have been the guy. Watching all those detective shows at Evan's parents' house did not help my paranoid side.

Those thoughts were pushed away when Evan pulled into the parking lot, and a girl was waiting for him. It was Callie, I assumed.

"That's Callie Pratt," Evan said, reaching behind the seat in his Audi for his suit jacket and a black bag. "She's going to sit with you tonight." He looked over at me, eyebrows raised, a slight smirk to his gorgeous lips. "Is that all right?"

I gave him a nod, my hand reaching for the door when his right one touched mine. "You sure you want to be around these rowdy fans?" he asked, softly.

"Yes…I want to see a live game."

Since seeing Evan on television in the hospital and then again at his parents' house, I couldn't get the idea of him playing out of my head, and I needed live visuals for that.

Evan gave a shake to his head, his grin growing. "All right then. Let's go."

When we stepped from Evan's car, Callie smiled my direction and then scrunched her nose at Evan. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Shut up," he said moving past her and bumping into her shoulder. "Callie, this is Ami. Be nice and keep out of trouble." He turned to me, smiling again, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Seriously, Evan, I'm fine." Evan laughed, and then he was walking into the back doors as Callie and I made our way to the ticket entrance. We said nothing to each other at first until she took my ticket out of my hand and handed it to the lady standing in the booth.

"So you're the girl Evan's all strung out on, eh?" Callie said as we walked into the United Center. Briefly, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of all of this and the strums of fans that wildly supported their home team.

"I wouldn't say strung out. He's my knight in shining armor, though."

That got a grin out of Callie and made me smile, too.

I heard laughter as a group of girls dressed in tight jeans and low-cut shirts congregated around a large poster of Leo Orting, Evan's best friend, and snapped pictures. Callie, loud enough for them to hear, said, "Those are what the boys refer to as puck bunnies. Some get the term ice princess, or hockey hookers, others get glass lickers, and some, well...they don't even get names." She eyed the one wearing what appeared to be a hot pink tube sock.

"You're one to talk," one of them said to Callie. "Have you f*cked the entire team yet?"

Callie didn't appear to be scathed by their comment and spouted off with, "No, haven't played the pipes with the goalie." She clicked her tongue and did a twirl. "But maybe tonight."

Was she joking?

Probably not.

I wouldn't have doubted that Callie had "played the pipes" with most of the players. She was beautiful and had a body girls dreamed about having. Her dark hair looked like she spent hours on it, but strangely enough it was that way naturally. She had wide chocolate eyes with thick black lashes and creamy olive skin. She looked like some kind of Brazilian goddess, the complete opposite of my light hair and blue eyes.