Skate the Line: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 2)

“Get some new legs out there!” Coach is nervously pacing the space behind the bench. Kane and I both stand, and the second we get the chance, we change the lineup. We’re down by one, but it’s only the second period, so I’m not worried.

Yet.

Malaki stays in, playing defense. We let Kane control the flow on the ice, setting the pace. We work together like an old squeaky machine. Hockey is a team sport. I learned that well before I hit the Peewee level. It took Kane a little while to understand, but once we got Emory as our goalie, things started to shift.

The team grew stronger and more serious.

We got our legs back, and they’re fucking strong.

“Swiper no swiping.” Malaki zips past, and adrenaline flies to my hands. It’s a stupid name for the play, but considering Malaki came up with it, he got to name it.

The line is tracking the call, and as soon as Malaki swipes the puck away, it goes right to my stick. I play with it for a few seconds before sending it to Kane, who sends it back to me.

A Hurricane player comes up on me quickly, and I slip it between his legs, and Kane is in possession.

He’s in the perfect spot.

Smack-dab in center ice.

I watch him wind up. He has phenomenal control of the puck. I’ve never seen anything like it.

At the last moment, I shout to Malaki, “Up!”

He jumps, and the little black puck hits the back of the net, going right between the goalie’s legs.

Kane skates off, acting unperturbed. The crowd is going wild as the team skates over to him, patting him on the back. Our helmets hit, and I feel myself grinning.

Kane snorts. “I got you to smile? Let me fix that.”

I squint, feeling my smile disappear right away. Kane wraps his arm around my shoulders, and before I can shake him off, he gets close and says, “I saw your new nanny.”

My spine stiffens. I know Kane can feel it through my pads. He skates off, laughing. We play a few more seconds before the buzzer sounds, and we head toward the locker room.

I watch Kane like a hawk. His attention swings to the box seats that I gave to Sunny for her and Ellie to sit in. I’ve done a good job at staying centered and focused during the game. After all, I owe it to my team after spending the first half of the season distracted.

There may be less anxiety that it’s a home game too, keeping me from constantly searching for Ellie.

Or is it because you know Sunny isn’t like the rest?

I push the thought away because one week of being my daughter’s nanny doesn’t make me trust her.

Emory comes up behind Kane and nudges him from behind. I see them talking to each other as I slowly skate toward the bench. Before I make it all the way, I watch Emory peer up at the box and then shake his head at Kane.

I groan and pull my mask away from my face. I look in the same direction toward the stands with a knot in my stomach. The last several times Ellie has come to a game, the nanny has abandoned her. A few have left altogether. The redhead, I learned, was getting fucked by one of the other team’s coaches in the locker room. Try explaining that to a five-year-old.

My jaw unclenches when I see that Ellie is perfectly fine. Her rosy cheeks are smashed onto the glass as she follows the ice girls who are cleaning the ice shavings for the third period.

Unfortunately, my jaw reclenches when I see Sunny standing beside her…wearing my fucking jersey.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I’m spinning with emotions. I stand on the ice and glare into the stands, unable to skate forward.

“Excuse me.” One of the ice girls moves around me, and it shakes me out of my trance.

Why the hell is Sunny wearing my jersey? Did she just…go into my room and grab it? What would make her think that I’d be okay with that?

The disappointment is fresh.

My teeth click. I squeeze my jaw tightly.

Not only am I angry that she’s wearing my jersey, but I’m angry that I expected something different with her. As each day passed with Sunny as Ellie’s new nanny, my optimism grew. I’d watched her closely, and she seemed genuine, like she was there to fulfill her duties and nothing more.

Now look at her.

My fists tighten.

Does she think wearing my jersey makes her mine? Is that her subtle way of getting my attention? I’ll admit, the other nannies were a little more obvious. They just showed me their tits the first chance they got.

Sunny, though? No. She went beyond—wearing my jersey to my game. That’s an ulterior motive if I’ve ever seen one.

It’s the ultimate ‘she’s mine’ play. Whether you’re in college or the pros. It’s a tale as old as time. Your significant other wears your jersey to the game. It’s as simple as that.

Except, Sunny isn’t mine, and I didn’t approve of this.

I pray the media hasn’t gotten wind of it. Not only am I protective over Ellie being in the limelight, but a rumor of me dating her new nanny?

Especially one as beautiful and young as her? They’ll think I’ve corrupted her.

Fucking hell.

With frustration propelling me, I catch the eye of the security guard standing at the end of the hall leading toward the lockers. I tell him that I need him to get the woman in the second box seat—the one with my jersey on. He nods and scurries off.

Now, I wait.

Coach has likely realized I’m not in the locker room, but he’ll let it slide since I’m considered a veteran on the team, and we have our trusty agreement when it comes to Ellie.

This sort of has to do with her.

My chest grows tighter the longer I wait.

The clock is ticking.

When I hear someone walking toward the end of the hall, my blood thickens.

“Thank you,” I hear her say softly. She must be talking to the security guard.

She sounds so…sweet. It pisses me off.

My steps are slow and methodical. The closer I get to her, the angrier I become—purely because I can’t help but notice how fucking perfect she looks in my jersey. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone as beautiful as she is wearing my number.

She is a conundrum, appearing so innocent and sweet but has a tongue on her that catches me off guard at times.

This is catching me off guard too.

There’s a hitch in my breath when she stands in front of me. I take a moment to appreciate the subtle softness about her before I ream her.

Warm, brown hair, braided back—probably to match Ellie’s. Bright-pink cheeks that I know are spattered with freckles that I noticed yesterday in the kitchen when I got too close to her. Glistening pink lips that are full and often open to a bright white smile that could make any man stop in his tracks.

Damn her.

“Hey! Is everything okay?” she asks, feigning concern and still somehow sounding happy.

I’m even angrier now.

Why did I think she was different?

I got my hopes up.

Erasing the rest of the space between us, I scowl. It surprises me when she doesn’t back away. I tower over her on any good day, but with my skates on, I’m even taller. She tilts her chin and stares up into my face. For a split second, I drop my eyes to her mouth.

Jesus.

It’s the jersey.

It’s fucking with my head.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap.

A line of confusion works its way onto her smooth forehead. “What?”

I quickly snap my hand forward to grab onto the jersey, but I stop at the last second because…did she just flinch?

My tight jaw loosens.

Did she think I was going to hit her?

I know I can be intimidating at times, and with the way the media describes me, I’m one breath away from shouting at someone, but I don’t hit women.

I slowly drop my hand by my side. I only allow myself to linger on her reaction for a second before I snap out of it.

“Wearing my jersey?” I ask. “Is that your way of getting into my head and telling me you’re interested?”

Sunny squints. Her forehead furrows even more. She looks down at the Blue Devil on her chest before an amused gasp flees from her mouth.

I don’t allow her to come up with some stupid, flirty excuse.

It’s too obvious, and I’m irritated.

“Take it off,” I demand.

She snaps her honey-colored eyes to mine, and my body buzzes at the thought of her stripping in front of me.

Fuck, what?

“I’m sorry, you want me to take it off?” She’s completely perturbed by the thought.

In the worst way, I want to advance on her. I want to grip the hem of the jersey and rip it off her body.

But I don’t.

Because who knows what she’s wearing underneath it, and also, she fucking…flinched.

Sunny takes a step away. “You’re angry because I’m wearing your jersey?” She nods to herself, like she understands. “You think I wore it because I want you?”

Well, she doesn’t have to say it like that.

Like she’s disgusted at the thought.

“I understand why you’d think that.” Her soft voice is like some sort of melody. “Being egotistical and all.”

What—

“I didn’t wear your jersey because I want you, Mr. Volkova.”

Oh, so now she wants to sass me?

I also wish she’d quit calling me ‘Mr. Volkova’ in that insolent tone. It causes dangerous thoughts—ones that I will take to the grave.

In an attempt to gain my control back, I lower my voice. “Then why did you wear it, Ms. Edwards?”

Her thick eyelashes flutter.

My dick twitches.

Heat moves through my bloodstream, and I start to sweat even more than before.

“I wore it because Ellie asked me to.”

What?

Fucking hell.

Of course she did.

“She wanted me to match her, and since I don’t have a Chicago Blue Devils shirt or hoodie, she grabbed this out of your closet.” Somehow, Sunny remains calm and self-assured. The explanation flows out of her mouth smoothly, and I know deep down that it’s the truth.

Silence passes between us.

The longer I stare at her, the worse I feel. The only thing I can manage is a grunt of understanding. Her mouth twitches at the noise.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” she asks, voice edging on amusement.

Sir.

I shut my eyes and breathe heavily through my nose. There are those dirty, inappropriate thoughts again.

I apparently need to fuck someone.

My eyes remain closed until I hear a shuffling in front of me. Assuming she is heading back toward Ellie, I open my eyes, only to get punched in the gut.

I catch a quick glimpse of her curves and the smooth skin along her torso as she pulls my jersey from her body. My stomach tightens when her lacy bra plays peek-a-boo beneath the thin long-sleeve shirt she has on underneath. She’s quick to pull it down, hiding her body from me. She adjusts herself before holding out the bundled-up material in her hand for me to take.

“I’d like to get back to Ellie now—if that’s okay with you, sir.”

Every muscle locks. There’s a challenge present in her eyes, and I fall right for it.

My fingers get lost in the jersey material, but it doesn’t take long for me to trap her hand in mine. We’re not palm to palm—the fabric rests between us—but I can feel the warmth coming from her hand.

I pull her in close.

She almost bounces against my pads.

A quick gasp escapes her mouth, and I can’t help but feel entertained by it.

“Stop calling me sir.”

Her throat works along her neck. Her chin dips with a tight nod, and I gently let her go.

Sunny backs away immediately and leaves.

I stand in the dark hallway and replay the entire interaction over and over again until I hear my team leave the locker room. I take the jersey with me and throw it to a fan not too far from the bench.

I’m not sure I trust myself to wear it after it touched Sunny’s body.