Breakaway (Gold Hockey Book 5)

by Elise Faber

She nuzzled her cheek against his bicep and snuggled closer.

  His own breathing went unsteady. “Anna?”

  “Shh,” she murmured. “I’m trying to remind myself why this is a terrible idea.”

  “Don’t do that,” he whispered, running a hand through her hair, stroking it across her back in gentle circles. “Remind yourself why it’s a damned good one.”

  She froze, chin tilting up, eyes warming, lips parting.

  He bent, mouth a hairsbreadth from hers.

  Her hand came up, fingers weaving into the hair on his nape. Her tongue darted out, and fuck it—

  “That’s right, you jerks!” Brayden shouted. “You can’t catch Han!”

  They jumped apart, and Blue had no doubt her chagrined expression matched his. “Kid,” he mouthed.

  Cheeks flushing, she rolled her eyes.

  But instead of moving away from him, instead of reinserting the careful distance that had been between them the entire evening, Anna surprised him by resting her head on his shoulder.

  His arms wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Or maybe it was.

  Because this was Anna.

  The ice was shit.

  There was a heat wave in Northern California, and the arena was packed with seventeen thousand plus fans. Which meant the already warm air inside had gotten uncomfortably hot and the ice was soft . . . and that had been before there was an issue with one of the condensers, caused by a short-circuit due to a rolling brownout.

  The generators had apparently kicked in, so the Gold Mine had power, but it was going to be a miserable game.

  He, along with most of the other guys, had stripped off any and all extra layers after the pregame warm-up, but in all honestly, that wasn’t going to make much of a difference, aside from making them pretend like they had done something to make the situation better.

  Brit plunked down onto her knees on the floor in front of her station. Her bottom half was clad in her goalie pads and her top half a sports bra that was topped with several wet towels.

  “Fuck, it’s hot,” she muttered.

  “Feel you,” Blue said. “I feel like I’m back in Florida where the rink never got cool.”

  She glanced over at him. “I didn’t realize you were from Florida. I thought you played in Michigan.”

  Blue knelt next to her, stretching out his right quad. It had been particularly tight as of late, but Mandy had prescribed him a pregame movement routine that was helping. “I spent a summer in Florida.” He touched his chest. “Military brat.”

  Brit’s brows pulled together. “Why didn’t I know that?”

  He shrugged. “Not exactly something I broadcast.”

  “Blue—”

  The concern in her voice was exactly what he didn’t want before the first game of the season, and it was why he didn’t share this kind of stuff, especially in the fucking locker room.

  Now Brit was worried about him, and if she didn’t play well, it would be his fault.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s”—he shook his head—“what it is.”

  She socked him. Hard.

  His eyes darted to hers in surprise. “What the hell was that?”

  “It is what it is?” she exclaimed. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  “Leave it, Brit,” he warned. “I don’t want to mess you up before the game.”

  She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, lifted one brow. “Really?”

  A shrug. “Goalies are superstitious.”

  “Hockey players are superstitious. What you’re trying to get at is the fact that goalies are weird.”

  “I didn’t say that.” But he was having a hard time biting back his smile.

  “You didn’t have to,” she muttered. “But I’m not one of the weird ones. I can interact with other human beings before games in a semi-normal fashion.”

  Semi-normal?

  He lost his battle with his smile.

  “You just stand in the way of pucks on purpose.”

  A shrug. “Yeah, but so do you guys, and you do it without pads. So the crazy ones are . . .”

  He lifted his palms in surrender. “I stand corrected.”

  Richie walked into the room, stacks of gloves just removed from the dryer in his arms. “Ten minutes to game time, folks.”

  “I’m not one of those goalies who doesn’t want anyone talking to her before the game,” she said, pulling off the towels and shrugging into her chest protector.

  “You don’t need to visualize?” he teased.

  “Visualize my stick up your—”

  “Hi, love,” Stefan said, plunking down in the spot on Brit’s other side. “Threatening the guys again?”

  “It’s the only way to get us to play good,” Max called from the other side of the room. “Pure terror.”

  Brit rolled her eyes. “Y’all are hilarious.”

  Max bowed. “And I thank you for your commendation.”

  “I’m surrounded by idiots,” Brit declared.

  “Hey—” Max began.

  “All right, all right,” Bernard said, cutting him off as he strode into the room. He wore a black suit and bright yellow tie and appeared more determined than ever. Blue knew the feeling, could almost sense in his bones that this season was different somehow.

  Not necessarily that the stakes were higher or the roster was better, but that maybe this could be their year.

  Internally, he rolled his eyes. This was the same feeling as every year.

  Possibility.

  That this was their season.

  But eighty-two games was a lot of hockey, so who knew what the cards held.

  “Let's focus, people,” Bernard continued. “I know it’s hot, but I want us to go out there tonight and play our game. Chase down loose pucks, finish checks, make the easy play, and don’t force the puck . . .” He listed a few more items as they all finished suiting up. “Let’s do this right, guys and gal.”

  Blue straightened and rolled out his shoulders, adrenaline beginning to pump through his body.

  Fuck, yes.

  It was time to play some hockey.

  He stood up and followed Brit as she led them down the hall, snagging his stick from the rack as he went.

  The roar of the crowd intensified with each step until it was almost deafening as they burst through the door leading onto the ice.

  He did his couple of laps—Brit wasn’t wrong in teasing him about hockey players being superstitious, then skated to the blue line for the national anthem. A few minutes and one semi-decent rendition later, he was at center ice, stick hovering just above the red dot and waiting for the ref to drop the puck.

  The whistle sounded.

  He and the other center jockeyed for stick position and then . . .

  The puck dropped.

  Blue flew into motion, winning the draw back to Max who carried it up a few strides before sending a pass over to Kevin, Blue’s left wing. Kevin was fast. He skated the puck into the zone and dumped it deep.

  Which was when Blue got to work, sprinting into the corner and getting a hard hit to his back for his trouble. But he came out with the puck and managed to get it over to Kevin, who took a shot on net that—unfortunately—the goalie stopped easily.

  And just that quickly, Blue’s shift was over.

  Heart pounding and sweat already dripping down his spine, he and the rest of his line skated to the bench.

  It was a constant push-pull of hustling up the ice then rushing back, of dodging hits and giving them, of skating hard and skating really hard. Add in the heat, and he was seriously sucking wind by the time the third period rolled around.

  Blue happened to look up at the Jumbotron. On its screen was one of those scales that climbed higher the louder the crowd cheered. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. Because interspersed with that climbing gauge were shots of fans cheering—

  Anna.

  Wh
oever was running the camera chose that exact moment to cut to Anna.

  She was in the stands, wearing a Gold jersey and sitting next to Brayden and Angie. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup and didn’t have anything particularly revealing on, but seeing her having so much fun just jumping up and down next to Bray and cheering like a madwoman, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Dude.” Trevor, a winger from the second line, punched him. “Dude.”

  Blue tore his eyes from the screen and glared at Trevor. “What?”

  “Dude, get your ass off the bench.”

  He glanced from Trevor to the ice, saw that Kevin and Stevie were both staring at him.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, hopping on and deliberately not looking toward the other end of the bench where Bernard and the other coaches were no doubt wondering what in the fuck he was doing.

  There was no way to play it off now, nothing to be done for it. He just had to get to the face-off dot and play some fucking hockey.

  The opposing center smirked at him. “Nice of you to join us.”

  “Fuck off,” he said, partly—okay, not really at all—under his breath.

  But there wasn’t time for a response.

  The puck hit the ice and Blue won it back to his defenseman. A quick pass to the side and Kevin snagged it, skating it into the zone. Sticks collided with sharp cracks, players yelled to their teammates, fans screamed, and Blue . . . slipped in behind the defense.

  Kevin saw him, they had a flash of eye contact, a heartbeat of perfect communication, before Kevin made a killer pass and got the biscuit right onto Blue’s stick.

  Maybe the easiest goal he’d ever score.

  With the barest flick of his wrists, the puck was in the back of the net.

  His teammates rushed him, and they all crashed into the boards. He couldn’t hear anything aside from his pulse pounding in his ears, but he happened to look up and see that the guys had pushed him into the glass directly in front of Anna and Brayden.

  She winked down at him and mouthed, “Lucky shot.”

  And Blue laughed his ass off all the way to the bench.

  Seventeen

  Anna

  She waved off Angie and Max’s offer of a ride, ignoring the knowing look on Angie’s face and the smirk on Max’s.

  She also ignored the, “Baby Blue said he’d wait for you at his car.”

  And Angie’s giggle that followed.

  Anna shook her head, because that was awfully presumptuous of Baby Blue to assume she would just come when called, but she didn’t say anything to Max. Instead, she just gave Brayden another squeeze and then walked across the parking lot to Blue’s car.

  He was standing next to the passenger’s side door of his sleek black sedan, and damn, but she loved this man in a suit.

  “Hi,” she murmured.

  “How much trouble am I in?”

  How did he know what she was thinking?

  She managed to bite back her laugh and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “That much?”

  Turning her head so she could press a kiss to his palm, she murmured, “So much.”

  Fingers down her cheek, her throat, across both collarbones. “Should I remind you that I scored the game winner tonight?”

  Laughter bubbled up in her chest. “Is that the patented Anderson charm at work?”

  His mouth grazed hers. “Only if it’s working.”

  Anna’s heart was pounding, and desire pooled low in her belly. They’d been working toward this for weeks now. Talking and texting and hanging out with nary a non-platonic gesture in sight.

  Building trust.

  Making ties.

  And somehow, that didn’t scare her anymore.

  The idea of forging a bond with Blue had become . . . safe?

  Or if not that exactly, then it was some combination of comfort and shelter—

  Who was she kidding? It was also heat, so much underlying heat brewing beneath the surface that Anna felt as though she’d be incinerated or perhaps scalded by the intensity of how much she wanted him.

  It had been so fucking good between them.

  And she wanted more.

  Which is why she nipped at his bottom lip and said, “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

  No hesitation. No questions asking if she was sure. No mutual agreements that this would be a horrible idea. Not this time. Because this time was different. This time around she knew Blue better . . . and maybe she also knew herself better.

  His lips slanted across hers and hers were already parted, her tongue darting into his mouth to dance with his. He slid an arm around her hips, yanking her flush against his chest and deepening the kiss—

  A horn blared.

  They jerked apart as Brit and Stefan drove by shouting, “Get a room!”

  Blue muttered something . . . well, something blue under his breath, but slowly released her and opened the passenger door. “We should—”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Teeth and tongue, heat and hard muscles, and it was fucking amazing. No one had ever kissed her the way Blue did. Like she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, like he couldn’t get enough.

  Like the thing he wanted most in the world was her.

  Eventually, her lungs screamed for air and she pulled back. He rested his forehead to hers, breaths coming fast.

  “Come on,” he told her. “I’ll drive you home.”

  He helped her into his car, buckling her seat belt for her even though she obviously could do it herself. It was funny, they’d only spent a few nights together, but the fact was she liked it when he did those small things for her. When he was holding the door or brushing his fingers over her shoulder when he left the room or even just buckling her seat belt, she knew he was showing her that he cared.

  Which made her next decision as easy as choosing chocolate cake over Brussels sprouts.

  They were fairly quiet as he made the drive to her apartment. All of the post-game traffic had dispersed by the time he’d finished with his cool down, the press, and his shower and so the drive was also quick.

  But when he began to pull up to the curb, Anna touched his arm.

  “You know the best thing about this apartment?”

  He shook his head.

  “It has two designated parking spots,” she said.

  He froze before glancing her way, smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “So, what are you saying?”

  She shrugged. “Just that I’ve got this virtual treasure trove of San Francisco parking availability, and it’s a shame that no one is using it.”

  A somber nod. “Such a shame.”

  “I don’t know if you can think of anyone who might be interested in using it?”

  Another nod, this one decidedly more mischievous. “I’ll call Kevin. He’s always complaining about having to find street parking.”

  “Blue!”

  He caught her fingers with his, pressed a kiss to the back of them. “Where’s the entrance?”

  A minute later, he’d pulled into the normally empty spot next to her little sedan and turned off his car. Silence descended, and she wondered if her parking spot invitation needed to be extended to a going upstairs invitation.

  But just as she’d opened her mouth to ask him to come up, he turned to face her.

  “You sure?”

  And her heart melted.

  “We’ve been building toward this for a while, don’t you think?”

  “We can keep building toward it.” He tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind one ear. “Because if I come up . . .”

  She nodded. “Does it make a difference if I want you to come up?”

  His eyes softened. “It makes every difference, but I also don’t want to mess this up. I hurt you before—”

  “What happened to the confident, bordering on cocky man who gave me
a night of multiple orgasms?” she teased.

  “He realized that he was kind of an asshole.” Blue scowled then pushed open his door and shut it again before she could respond. Probably for the best because she would have agreed that he had been an asshole. But he was a reformed asshole now, and Anna was crazy about him.

  “Come on, darlin’,” he said, opening her door and extending a hand.

  “I like this asshole,” she whispered when he tugged her to her feet and straight into his arms. She really liked the way he made her feel, how he held her like she was something important.

  He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I do love that sharp tongue.”

  The momentary image of her using her tongue to trace every part of Blue’s body distracted her from his words. But only for a moment before she recounted what he’d said and then what she’d said before that.

  Whoops.

  Okay, so the closed door hadn’t stopped her from blurting out an agreement, but at least Blue didn’t seem to mind.

  In fact, he appeared entertained, amusement dancing in the blue depths of his eyes.

  She bit her lip.

  He groaned. “Lead the way, trouble,” he said and released her from his embrace, taking her hand instead.

  “Hmph.” But she smiled as she led him up the stairs to her apartment.

  “Of the best kind,” he murmured halfway up the first flight.

  “Damn straight—” The words caught off when she turned around and saw him staring at her ass. “Eyes up here.”

  He pinched her cheek. And not the one on her face.

  “Fuck, no. Not when I’ve got this gorgeous thing swaying in my face.”

  Anna huffed, continuing up the stairs. “And here I thought you were watching my back.” A beat. “Or maybe my shoulders.”

  “Backside maybe, but—” His words cut off and she felt his stare. It was a heavy, tangible thing. “Anna.”

  She didn’t turn around, couldn’t turn around. Not when she’d brought his attention to the fact that ‘Anderson’ was emblazoned on the back of the jersey she wore and yes, she knew it was silly, but now that he’d noticed it . . .

  All the nerves.

  “Baby,” he murmured.

  More steps. More climbing. They were almost to her floor.