With my head bowed, I take deep breaths and try my damndest to not cry. I wish I could be this free off the ice. Mom used to make life worth living with just her smile. My chest aches, and I place my hand over my heart as if the pain would disappear by rubbing the spot. I start skating over to the boards to exit the ice before the hockey players start showing up. With my head down, I don’t notice the massive shadow in the doorway until I’m halfway there, and I almost slip from being startled. No one is supposed to be here.
Six foot two with shoulders wider than the door opening, I have the most random thought of myself being draped over those broad shoulders. His feet are spread apart in a stance of male dominance, and his muscled arms are crossed over a barrel chest. It’s a stance for intimidation with a back off vibe that speaks for itself. I realize as I’m checking him out that he can see I’m doing just that, but he’s returning the favor, because I can feel his gaze burning onto my skin until I’m overheated even after skating. By the time I meet his stare, his eyes are furious and a menacing scowl sits on his rugged, handsome face. I tip my head to the side, trying to figure out if I should be screaming for help or slapping myself for ogling the arrogant ass. He’s blocking the door, and he doesn’t look too happy that I’m here. Well, two can play that game.
I spread my feet apart, mimicking him with my arms crossed over my chest. That draws his gaze down to my pushed-up boobs. I mean, they aren’t half bad if I do say so myself. He scowls even harder, like it’s my fault he was staring at my impressive assets. A five o'clock shadow covers his angry face, and his set jaw draws my gaze to his sinfully delicious bowed lips. My stomach goes crazy with flutters, and a shot of desire bursts through my core, causing a shiver up and down my spine. When his lips form into a half-smirk of pure cockiness, I glare at him. His sharp pale green eyes narrow at me as he runs a hand through black hair that’s slicked back to perfection and yet a tad messy, like he can’t seem to stop running his fingers through it. We continue our stare down until I feel like pulling my hair out, and finally, I break.
“Are you going to stand there all day or let me through?” I grit out, finding it hard to hold our stare down. I usually avoid these types of things, but he’s bringing out a side of me I never let out.
A single dark eyebrow raises at my angry tone and that cocky smirk is more pronounced, giving me a sudden urge to smack his handsome face. I step into his personal space, making my intent clear—if he doesn’t move, I will bulldoze him over. When he steps on the ice in his tennis shoes without falling, almost like he was made for the ice, I’m a bit impressed, but I won’t admit that. His tall frame towers over my five foot eight, blocking out the dim lighting. Green eyes pierce my blue gaze in the shadows, and the urge to flinch is strong because he’s standing too close. I keep my cool and lift my chin, glaring at him and showing I’m not backing down without a fight. He slowly starts his perusal from my feet to the top of my head, and I’m a bit offended when he looks displeased with my appearance. I may not be stunningly beautiful, but I at least know I’m pretty. I have my mom’s ice-blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a slim body that’s curvy in all the right places. I inherited my father’s dirty blonde hair, but I’ve covered that part of myself with pink hair dye. I don’t want to look anything like that monster, and my hair is the only resemblance I have with him, thank God.
Having had enough of the silence and this prick crowding my space, I try again.
“Well? Are you going to move out of my way or keep acting like you own this ice?” I mutter, clearly annoyed at this jerkface.
He flashes a cocky gleam of white teeth and points his thick, long index finger to the ceiling without looking up. I gaze up and blink slowly. Hanging from the rafter in the middle of the rink is a banner. He’s posed on the ice in our school jersey with full gear on and the stick striking to hit the puck. I can see his hypnotizing green eyes from here, just as intense and hypnotizing, and he looks way too serious. Under his picture, it has a
