Kiss and Puck Chapter 8
The helmet was snug against his temple as he tapped the stick lightly across the ice, carving lazy circles that swept the entire rink in his wake. A blur of controlled power, he wove through the pack until he glided to a stop just meters from the seat where Kora sat.
“Now,” he whispered to the empty air.
Timing perfectly, Kora shot to her feet. To capture his attention she slammed her open palm against the clear plexiglass barrier in a sharp, urgent rhythm.
“Hey, Tristan!”
Even through the roar of the full arena she managed to cut through the noise. Tristan glanced over.
Success. She tapped her own wrist twice.
Go find my watch.
Did he actually read the silent message? The corner of his mouth curled upward in a slow, wicked grin.
He reversed direction so fast the ice cracked. Straight at her—dangerously close, as if he meant to crash straight through the barrier.
Kora flinched before she could stop herself.
Whoa—
The collision that never came. Tristan had slammed the brakes at the last second. Shards of ice exploded outward, stinging her cheeks. His eyes locked with hers across the glass, gray and stormy beneath the tousled black hair.
Then, without warning, he blew her a kiss.
“Thanks for the save!”
“What?”
She was still blinking when he yanked the helmet down, spun, and rocketed back toward the center ice.
“Wait—no, I mean my watch—!”
Her desperate cry was swallowed by the coach’s whistle blast.
Whoo—
Did he really think I came here to cheer for him?
She was still fuming when a cool voice drifted from the next row.
“Ah, you’re in my seat. Mind moving?”
Kora turned. A cluster of girls glared back, eyes sharp enough to draw blood. Hockey-player girlfriends, maybe. Or die-hard fans. The look said she was trespassing on holy ground.
…Why does it always have to be like this on a hockey game? Freaky girls.
She gave them the briefest, most irritated eye-roll and dropped into the seat beside them. From her bag she pulled a printed page and spread it across her lap.
“I thought this was a library. Ugh, nerd.”
The girls laughed, low and ugly, and started openly trash-talking.
You think I haven’t dealt with a hundred of your kind? Today’s the exception. It’s three-on-one. I’ll be merciful.
One way or another, that watch had to go by the end of the game. She’d wait. There was no time to waste—homework first, then he could come collect his prize.
Then the real practice started.
Heavy bodies in full gear crashed together with meaty thuds. Sharpened blades carved deep furrows through the ice. Yelling and roaring from the players and the coach battered her eardrums. The girls beside her cheered Tristan by name with genuine enthusiasm, throats raw.
Pathetic.
The more they yelled, the deeper Kora buried her nose in the printed page. She was just about to underline a key passage when—
Crash—
The glass beside her vibrated violently. The fluorescent pen in her hand slid straight across the page.
Kora looked up in shock.
Tristan had just body-checked a defenseman so hard the guy slammed into the glass and stuck there like a cartoon. Then he shoved the player off with a casual flick of his stick and lifted his gaze.
In that single heartbeat their eyes met again.
…
He held her stare, then lifted one corner of his mouth in a lazy, arrogant smirk—like he was saying, Look at me instead of that page.
Before she could answer, he had spun and was already disappearing down the ice with the puck in tow.
…What was that?
Tristan stole the puck, accelerated like a missile, and left the defending men in his dust. He lined up the goalie and unleashed a snap shot that made the entire arena hold its breath.
The goalie lunged. The puck rebounded off his chest—but Tristan had already seen the ricochet coming. He flicked the puck in mid-air and snapped it again.
Smack.
The net jerked. Rebound goal. The crowd lost its collective mind.
…That’s why they call him the giant.
One hundred and ninety-five centimeters of raw power, lightning reflexes, and puck-handling that looked like the stick was magnetized to his palm. He hadn’t even looked winded. And when defenders tried to rough him up, the rebound was always Tristan coming right back for revenge.
She watched, stunned. Even if she hated him, she had to admit the talent was insane.
Hockey’s just fat guys beating each other with sticks, right? Then why do people lose their minds over this?
Arrogant rich-kid thought. Actually… he’s not pretending. He’s just that good.
She shook her head. The sour feeling in her chest refused to go away.
What if I had talent like that? I’d never have to worry about money again.
Unequal life. Unfair life.
She crumpled the printed page in her fist and shoved it back into her bag.
Twenty minutes later she was still waiting outside the hockey locker room, phone in hand, staring at 7:48 p.m.
Damn it. I have to get to the café by eight for the econ group project. Why won’t he just come out?
She’d almost given up—until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Tristan! Whatever’s in there, just get out here!”
The door cracked open. One of the players poked his head out, smirking.
“What? The crazy fan from earlier? Fans aren’t allowed in the locker room.”
“Not a fan. I need to talk to him. Just for a second.”
“Fan mail? Fine, but the underwear stays out. Captain hates that shit.”
The guy twirled a towel like a weapon. Kora snatched it out of his hand and yanked him forward.
“One minute. Bring him out here. Right now.”
“Okay, okay. Chill.”
Five minutes later the same player reappeared, grinning.
“Captain says if you’ve got something to say, come in. Or wait out here another twenty minutes.”
“Move!”
Kora shoved him aside and stormed inside.
The stench hit her first—sweat, jock itch, and pure testosterone. The room was packed wall-to-wall with broad-shouldered men, half-naked, laughing, shoving, and completely ignoring her presence. A few whistles even cut through the noise.
“Hey, pretty. You looking for me?”
“Where’s Tristan?”
“This one’s another captain-chaser. Gross.”
She ignored the crude jokes and pushed deeper, scanning every face. Then she turned the corner—and froze.
The locker room was empty.