Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(43)

The man glared, undeterred by her.

I flitted my gaze over the players, trying to read the names on their jerseys as they moved, finally landing on number five: Masen. He was facing away from me, waiting for his turn at the net and casually passing a puck back and forth with his stick. When his turn came, he took off like a flash, crossing the ice smoothly, passing the puck from one side of his stick to the other, before launching it at the goalie. As he circled around that back of the net and toward the end of the line, he looked my direction, winking, as he skated lazily back and forth in the line.

Whenever I thought about Evan, the image of him naked was never far from my mind. And damn if that image wasn't there while watching him. It was so disturbing that I found myself squirming around in the seat, trying not to think about him.

Skating by again, to tease me I assume, he came to a sudden halt near the glass and tapped his stick against it, a tidal wave of ice shavings caught my eyes, but the movement around me wasn't there. Was he flirting?

My breath caught in my throat when our eyes connected through the glass of the boards. The intensity of his stare made it feel like we were in his condo again while he watched me sleep.

Evan shook his head a bit with a crooked grin before lifting his gloved hand in a slight wave. I returned the gesture shyly, biting my lip when I realized how wide I was grinning. I probably looked like all the other girls pressed against the glass.

A harsh buzzer resonated through the arena, and Evan skated off the ice with the rest of his teammates to the left of us, glancing back at me once.

My gaze followed until I could no longer see him.

Callie cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. "You should take a drink now." Once again, she pushed the flask my direction.

"No," I said, pushing it back with a smile. I was trying to sound cool, but the butterflies in my stomach from seeing Evan on the ice were doing a lot of flapping. "I'm actually on a lot of medications right now from an infection I got. Probably not wise to drink."

"That sucks."

The Zamboni circled the ice, glossing over the blade marks from the warm ups while Callie and I made conversation. She gave me the lowdown on hockey, but I knew a little from what Sam had told me and watching all those videos of Evan in his first season and the Major Juniors.

Soon enough, the lights faded, and the entire arena went completely dark. A loud rock song came on over the speakers while video clips, showing highlights from previous games, played on the screen of the jumbotron, to get the fans pumped up.

"Chicago…on your feet! Here they come! Your Chicago Blackhawks!" the announcer rumbled as spotlights washed over the crowd and a loud foghorn blared.

The hum of the crowd intensified before erupting into a full on scream as the lights in the United Center went down. Foghorns and screams steady, the lights stayed low, as players skated in to the tune of "Stranglehold."

They circled the ice counterclockwise, scattering in every direction, with the opposing team to the right of the rink. Green, yellow, red, and blue spotlights were on center ice as the announcer came on.

"Your starting line-up for the Chicago Blackhawks. On defense, number thirteen, Dave Keller. On right wing, number six, Travis Sono. On center, number eight, Leo Orting. On defense, number five, Evan Masen. On left wing, number forty-two, Remy Carson. Your goalie, number sixty-six, Cage Breezin." More screams followed, all twenty thousand fans on their feet, including me. "And now…your National Anthem."

I caught Evan looking over at me again. Once again, I couldn't look away.

After the National Anthem, the players took their positions; Leo was center ice with Evan farther down on the line, next to one of the Canucks players who appeared to be the same height and build as him.

Leo waited, the ref poised between him and the Canucks center as they awaited the drop of the puck to put the game into play. I held my breath when the puck fell, and instantly I was swept away by the speed and aggression of professional hockey.

Callie was intense. She was shouting and cheering them on, especially when they were in control of the puck. I wouldn't mess with Callie. Not after watching her tiny ass shouting at players three times her size. Every word she said was laced with so much sass, she reminded me of a chihuahua taking on a bullmastiff.

Play came to a halt at center ice when the number forty-two Blackhawk got into it with one of the Canucks.

Evan was on the bench, his face red, shouting his own spew of words at the two, apparently upset.

"Those two are always at it," Callie said, motioning to Remy Carson, left wingman for our team.

Look at me. Our team?

Evan jumped over the boards and back on the ice, my eyes glued to him.

"Ahem..." Callie cleared her throat, and I looked over at her sheepishly. "You're watching his hips, aren't you?"

Turning my head, I tried to focus back on the game. I could feel her staring at me as I watched Evan on the ice. It was making me really uncomfortable, and the thought of maybe kicking something or asking those guys in the green jumpsuits to distract her looked pretty good. I did none of that and decided to just tell the truth.

"What? No…yes…is that bad?" I didn't bother to argue.

"No." She smiled, bringing her drink to her lips. "Evan's got moves," she said flippantly, shrugging as if she hadn't said the one thing that could get me to blush.