Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11)

by Elise Faber

  Everything went out of focus for a heartbeat, but then he was shoving the opposing player back, kicking the puck forward and out of his feet, getting it back on the blade of his stick and forcefully carrying it out of the zone.

  They were on the penalty kill, down a goal late in the third, and their players were tired.

  He needed to get the puck over that blue line, get it deep enough into the other zone that they could change for the second penalty kill unit—the next group of his teammates, who would try to kill off the other team’s one-player advantage.

  But they weren’t going to make it easy on him as he bodily shoved himself forward.

  A hard swipe of the fucker’s—aka a player from the other team’s—stick against his hands, sent a stinging pain crawling up his arms. He’d had much worse, though, so he didn’t falter, successfully creeping up the final six inches and getting the puck out of the zone. Now, the other team had to all clear out, and they had a little breathing room. Enough at least for him to be able to glance up, to see Max streaking forward, looking not the least bit tired, even though he’d just worked his ass off in front of Brit’s net.

  Ethan banked the puck off the boards, tapping it around the player trying to intercept, unconsciously holding his breath until it was on Max’s stick and his teammate was skating down the ice.

  Then, even though his lungs were burning, he sprinted to the bench, allowing Coop to jump over the boards and join the rush. It was two-on-two, but then Blue joined in, exiting the box as the penalty ran out, and the Ducks made a bad change, and in a second, the Gold had numbers with their opponents scrambling to get back into their end of the ice.

  A pass skipped over Blue’s stick was scooped up by Coop, who made a move that was all kinds of illegal (in a strictly that-was-fucking-amazing and not that it-was-against-the-rules-of-the-game way). He crashed the net, faked a shot, and passed it back door to Blue, who didn’t miss a beat as he slammed it home.

  The crowd erupted, the walls of the Gold Mine seeming to vibrate with the roars of pride and happiness (and occasional boos from the few Ducks fans in the stands), and for a moment, Ethan wasn’t present in the game.

  He was wondering if Dani was able to hear the cheering deep in the bowels of the arena, where her office was located, if she’d seen the play, seen him working hard.

  Pathetic.

  Certainly.

  But maybe if he couldn’t win her over by hijacking her afternoon of reading and librarying, then maybe he could impress her with hockey skills.

  She liked the sport.

  Right?

  He supposed she had to, given how much of it she watched.

  Which brought him back to hoping she’d seen it, even though he knew that she was probably busily reviewing angles in case the goal was challenged, labeling different portions of the video feed for review later. He also knew that sometimes she ran behind the actual game play, using the commercial breaks to tag all the various things the coaches wanted earmarked so they could be pulled and stitched together after the game or in between periods.

  Still, his ego wanting to be boosted aside, Ethan knew Dani was working her ass off right at the moment, so he pushed all thoughts of stroking (sweet Christ, why was he always thinking about stroking with that woman?) aside and glanced down at the screen placed beneath plexiglass below the bench, the goal replaying over and over again from various angles.

  He watched Coop’s move again—fuck that was sick—and then was surprised, his eyes drawn from the screen when Bernard, their head coach, tapped him on the shoulder with the rolled-up sheaf of papers he always carried when coaching. Considering he’d never seen Bernard look at them, Ethan thought it was the older man’s version of a fidget spinner. Not that he’d ever voice that thought aloud. Players didn’t rock the boat with their head coaches.

  Or at least not players who wanted to actually get a decent amount of ice time.

  He met his coach’s gaze, forced away thoughts of fidget spinners.

  Bernard nodded approvingly. “That was you.” Another tap, and then he was back focusing on the rest of the team, talking with the ref, saying something into Calle’s—their assistant coach, who had a killer mind for offense (and also Coop’s wife)—ear before focusing back on the ice.

  Which was what Ethan should be doing.

  Except, now he wasn’t just wondering if Dani had noticed his role in the play, but whether she’d caught Bernard giving him props—something that was rare with their typically quiet coach and something that had his post-goal grin widening.

  Probably not.

  She had a million things going on at once.

  But when he happened to notice the camera on him, spotting part of his face on the monitors beneath his feet, he lifted his head, stared directly into that lens and winked.

  Hopefully, it was so fast that no one but Dani would have seen—he doubted this but was prepared to take any teasing tossed his way, regardless—

  The ref blew his whistle.

  Ethan focused on the ice.

  The puck dropped.

  The game went on.

  And all thoughts of winks disappeared, but the notion that Dani might be watching stayed in the back of his mind, had him skating harder for those final few minutes, had him working his ass off as they wound down and the play moved into overtime. It had him positioning himself in the right place at the right time when he took his turn, accepting a pass . . . and stuffing it past the goalie.

  Then as the horn blared and the crowd cheered, as his teammates surrounded him for the requisite hug, her presence stayed there.

  Maybe she hadn’t seen the wink.

  But hopefully, she had seen the goal.

  Chapter Nine

  Dani

  A wink.

  God, it should have been dorky as all hell.

  But instead, she’d nearly swallowed her tongue, had almost gasped out loud, both somehow at the same time, which would have been critically embarrassing considering Jess was in the room with her.

  She could hear how the conversation would go in her head.

  Why are you choking on your gasps, oh boss of mine?

  Because I’m a dumbass, who nearly swooned over a wink.

  Of course, Jess would never call her oh boss of mine, but that was far from the point.

  The point being, of course, that Ethan had winked.

  At her.

  And she’d gotten all fluttery inside.

  “Fucking hell,” she whispered.

  Sliding, sliding down that slope, the rope of her safety net fraying more by the second.

  “I know,” Jess said, her eyes on the screen. “That move was incredible.”

  “Yes.” She focused back on her job, filing the wink to deal with later, and then added, “Coop has great hands.”

  Jess grinned over her shoulder. “Too bad he’s madly in love with Calle, because those hands”—she clasped her fingers together, air-kissed them, a la chef style—“though Ethan isn’t too bad. I wouldn’t mind feeling that beard between my thighs.”

  This time, Dani did choke on her gasp, coughing as she attempted to capture the continuing play. “That’s”—cough—“not”—cough—“very”—cough—“professional.”

  Jess grinned. “I forgot we did that here.”

  Dani snorted. “You know I’m not mad, it’s just . . .”

  “Shitty and reductive?”

  A shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Probably.” She tossed another smile over her shoulder. “I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out.”

  Another snort, mostly because Jess was never on her best behavior, and that was part of the reason it was so fun to spend hours in the booth with her. “You forget I know you.”

  “You forget . . .” She scowled. “You’re right.”

  Dani laughed.

  Then they both got back to work, playing catch up at times as they broke each play down into tiny bite-sized pieces to be consumed later. But by the
end of the game—and after a really nice goal from Ethan—the Gold had won, and they were packing up.

  “Nice work,” she told Jess, as her assistant shrugged into her coat.

  Jess nodded. “It’ll still be nice to get an actual intern to help us with the busy work, but we’ve got a good system down.”

  “Agree completely,” she said, running the clips through a backup program. “But I’m back to the drawing board on that after our last debacle.”

  “We’ll be good until it’s sorted.”

  And with that, they hashed out a few details for the next game—an away one—before Jess slipped out into the hall.

  Dani, meanwhile, waited for the backup program to run, even though she didn’t strictly need to, since it was all automated. But she wasn’t quite ready to head out into the hall, on potential collision courses with men who winked at her.

  At her.

  Because it had been for her, right?

  “I mean,” she whispered, swiveling in her chair, running her fingers over the keyboard, and really wishing she hadn’t already eaten her one box per day limit of Hot Tamales during the game. “We spent all day together yesterday. He said he wanted to date me. Who else could it have been for, if not me?”

  “It was for you.”

  Her breath caught, and she swiveled in her chair. Ethan stood in the open doorway, freshly showered and looking all too tempting.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, when he stepped inside and closed the wooden panel behind him.

  “If it’s my dorky ass wink that you’re referring to, that is.” He smiled, and her brain melted. Just like that.

  “Ethan,” she murmured.

  He sat in Jess’s chair, wheeled it close. “Do you have any video for me?”

  “I—um—” She sucked in a breath, released it slowly. “I don’t have any video for you. Jess took care of that tonight.”

  “Good.” He rolled closer until his knees were on either side of hers. “You okay?”

  She swallowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You were upset yesterday,” he murmured.

  No, she had been overwhelmed yesterday, frustrated at herself, scared that she liked this man so much.

  That was the painful and unhappy truth.

  She was the problem, not him.

  “I wasn’t upset at you.”

  He slid a little closer. “I know.”

  And . . . silence.

  Good times. Happy times. Fucking awkward times.

  “I’m not going to ask you out again,” he began, causing her eyes to fly up from the pale pink she’d painted on her fingernails, matching the color he’d mentioned liking on her so-called cute toes. He wasn’t going to ask her out? But what if she wanted him to?

  Wanted him to?

  Fucking hell.

  She needed to get her head in shape before she even began considering whether or not she wanted the man to ask her, and how she might answer him, how fucking awkward she would be on a date if she did happen to agree to go with him.

  God, because if she agreed to go out with him, then she would have to consider what she wore, what she said, what she—

  “Would you kiss me?”

  His gray eyes widened, the pink tip of his tongue darted out and tasted his bottom lip. “Dani?”

  She shoved her chair back, stood, and moved to the door, intending to yank it open, to create an escape route—although her fuzzy brain wasn’t telling her if it was an escape route for him or for herself—but then Ethan was there. Right there, pressing her front into the wood, his chest and torso hot and hard where it brushed her spine.

  “Do you want me to kiss you, sweetheart?” he breathed into her ear, the bristles of his beard running over her jaw, making her shiver.

  “I—I didn’t mean now.”

  “No?” He rested his hand near her head, his hips resting heavier against hers.

  “N-no,” she murmured. “I meant on a date.”

  He inhaled sharply, body going still. “Yes, baby, I’d most definitely try to get a kiss, if you agreed to go out with me.” The words were hot and damp, reminding her of other parts of her body that were hot and damp, reminding her of parts of his body that could play nice with those hot and damp parts of hers.

  His lips brushed lightly over her skin, and then she didn’t have to imagine what the prickles of his beard would feel like.

  Glorious, was the answer.

  The stubble had gooseflesh rising on her nape, had her hips arching back and pressing against the hard jut of his erection.

  “Fuck, Dani,” he murmured, that beard sliding lower, his lips trailing along her throat. “You are so fucking sexy.”

  “I—” She didn’t know what she was planning on saying, probably something mood-killing about how she wasn’t sexy, how she was too fat and frumpy and too fucking shy to be sexy.

  But then he . . . sucked.

  His lips pursed on her skin, sucked lightly, and Dani could have sworn that she melted—just turned right into an ice cream encountering the mid-summer sun, turning into a puddle as it dripped down its cone.

  “Will you go out with me now?” he murmured.

  Her hands clenched, and for a moment she didn’t process that she’d reached behind her, was grasping onto his neck and shoulder, her breasts lifted, pleading for his attention, her fingers of one hand plunging into his hair, those on the other digging into the hard muscle of his deltoid.

  “I—”

  His hips were flush to her ass, his cock hard, and she grew even wetter as his hand trailed up her side, stopped just beneath where she wanted it, fingers running lightly over the bottom edge of her bra.

  He nipped at the spot where her shoulder met her throat, and she jumped, spinning in his hold, wanting to see his face, needing to deduce what was in his expression. In the blink of an eye, the move had her against him, had her front pressed to his front, and fuck having an up close and personal view (and touch) of Ethan Korhonen was a damned good thing.

  “Is that a yes—”

  A knock interrupted his question.

  “Ignore it,” he whispered, his fingers tugging the collar of her shirt to the side, his lips and tongue and beard driving her slowly insane.

  “Dani?” A voice called.

  Except, it wasn’t just a voice. It was Fanny.

  Nosy, pushy Fanny.

  Ethan cursed, pushed off her, plunking into a chair and somehow able to look cool, calm, and collected, even though she was still that cone full of melted ice cream, liquid leaking out of her and turning into a puddle.

  Another knock.

  Ethan pushed out of the chair, took Dani’s hand and led her to her seat, pressing her down into it. “It’s unlocked,” he called, picking up a tablet and appearing in an instant as though he hadn’t just been practicing giving her hickeys on her neck.

  The handle turned, and Fanny came in, her gaze alighting on Ethan and then Dani, brows raising into sharp little rainbows on her forehead. “Am I interrupting?”

  Ethan stood. “Nope,” he said, voice calm and friendly. “I’m just returning this.” He held the tablet out to her, his expression relaxed, though when his gaze met Dani’s, his eyes held a heat.

  One that she knew was mirrored in her own.

  Then he was gone, and she was trying to convince herself that she wasn’t disappointed she hadn’t gotten to answer him, hadn’t felt that stubble on her lips.

  Nope.

  Not disappointed.

  Relieved.

  That was what the sharp, jabbing pain in her heart felt like.

  Relief.

  Yup.

  Yup.

  Fanny sat in the chair Ethan had just vacated, and Dani felt a bolt of annoyance that her friend was there instead of the man she was lusting after. But then Fanny began expounding on her latest exploits as a thirty-something woman trying to find a man who wasn’t a total freaking loser and . . . seriously, she could relate.

  Except . . .
Ethan wasn’t a loser.

  So, yeah, she was disappointed and annoyed—at herself.

  Stifling a sigh, she tuned into Fanny’s words, knew that she owed it to her one friend to pay attention.

  But it was a struggle.

  Because she couldn’t help but feel that she was utterly, royally fucked to the moon and back.

  But it’ll be a fun, fun ride, her inner daredevil—the one that was usually stifled by her anxiety, her fear—said.

  Until it’s not, the sane part of her countered. Until it’s not.

  Chapter Ten

  Ethan

  It was almost time to get on the ice.

  It was their last match at the Gold Mine before a six-game road stretch. Not that Ethan minded the trip. He wasn’t leaving his family behind or a significant other. Actually, the whole trip was a net positive for him because his parents were coming to the game in Baltimore, and he was excited that he’d be able to hang with them for a day. Usually, the team only played their Eastern Conference opponents twice during a season, so he was glad his parents could make it out for one of the match-ups.

  Not that he was like a little kid desperate for them to come and watch.

  Rather . . . he was like a little kid excited to show off his new toy—and that toy was not Dani (she’d be fucking terrified if it was, though he couldn’t deny he hoped to at some point get her comfortable enough to be folded into the Korhonen crew). Instead, his excitement was because he was with a team who valued him, who gave him ice time and the opportunity to play, and his parents would see that. It didn’t matter how many games they’d already come to over the course of his career (and they made it to a half-dozen a year), Ethan still got a thrill from them watching him play in a Gold game.

  They weren’t coming to watch him sit on the bench like teams past.

  They’d see him living his dream, on the ice, hopefully making a positive difference for the team.

  They’d see him doing something productive, something important. Though not as important as their jobs, their teaching and research, at least when he was on the ice and not warming the bench, he was actually doing something that came close to the value they brought.