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

The word orgasm and Sunny should have no relation in my brain, yet all I hear is her friend’s voice talking about how my daughter’s nanny hasn’t had sex in far too long.

I wish I had never heard those words, because they’re playing dirty little tricks inside my head.

I kept my distance yesterday. Ellie and I spent the day together, even though I continuously had to remind her not to bother Sunny since it was her day off. I even pulled out the I’ll-teach-you-Russian card, which is something I only ever do as a last resort to keep her entertained.

“Volkova.” I pop up from the sound of Coach’s voice.

He nods to his office while I continue lacing my skates.

Malaki whistles under his breath. “Daddy’s mad.”

Some of my teammates chuckle, but most are too focused on the game to pay much attention to Malaki’s jokes.

I walk past him and snort and slip into Coach’s office.

“Everything okay?” I stay close to the door. It’s nearly game time, and I like to get focused.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve noticed a change in you.”

Adjusting my pads, I furrow my brow. “Like?”

Coach Jacobs crosses his arms over his suit. “You are more attentive on the ice. Faster. Determined. You’re reminding me of the player you were several years ago.”

You mean I remind you of the player I was before I had another responsibility…like a kid.

Anger surfaces, but it’s quickly washed away because fuck. It’s nice to hear.

He has children. They’re grown, but he gets it. It’s why he’s kept me on the team and has dealt with my sudden disappearances from practice and my inattentiveness on the ice.

“What changed?” he asks. “Is it because of Olson?”

I shake my head. “No, but he is a great asset to the team. He’s a damn good goalie.”

He nods. “It’s the nanny, then?”

I make a grave mistake and dart my eyes away, as if he’ll be able to read the scandalous thoughts in my head.

“I trust her,” I admit. “I can focus on the game because I know Ellie is safe, and I know she’s not going to dip out on my daughter because her feelings are hurt that I’m not fucking her.”

His abrupt laugh fills the room. “Jesus…well…” He rubs his hand over his face. “Hang onto her, then, and don’t fuck it up. Between signing Olson, your sudden focus on the ice, and working out the kinks between the rest of the team, we’re looking good.”

My fingers tingle.

He’s right.

Winning a game sends fire into every one of our bloodstreams. We’re competitive and determined, and that’s the recipe for a powerhouse team. It’s refreshing being able to concentrate on the game for once.

I leave his office and finish lacing up. Noise from the crowd slips into the locker room, and my blood sings.

I check my phone before heading out onto the rink for warm-ups, and my breath catches. There’s a text from Sunny. It’s a photo of Ellie in her Blue Devils jersey, hair woven in two perfect braids with little blue bows hanging from the ends. She has my number painted on her face in blue paint.

I grin and swipe out of the photo, only to be punched in the gut with another.

It’s a selfie of the two of them.

My stomach tightens just as tight as my grip on the phone.

Their faces are smashed together, and they’re both lit up like fucking fireworks. Bright eyes, dazzling smiles, and flushed cheeks.

God damn. Sunny truly is a ray of fucking sunshine.

Between her warm eyes, tiny dimples on her cheeks, and killer smile, I start to feel like I’m staring at the sun instead of a photo of my daughter and her nanny.

I quickly exit out of the photo and toss my phone in my locker. I follow my teammates out onto the ice and will myself to focus.

The Flames are driving me up a fucking wall.

I like to think of myself as a man with restraint, but if one more red jersey pounds into me and sends me flying into the glass, I may break my fucking stick over their head.

“Fuck you.” Barret, one of the Flames’s best players, cuts in front of me and tries to steal the puck.

I fling it toward Malaki and ignore the chatter. I slip to the left and then to the right, my feet moving over the ice like I was born to skate.

I follow Malaki, tossing the puck back and forth. We’re tied 1-1.

One minute left in the second period.

It’d be a nice touch to score a goal before we head into the locker room and make adjustments for the last period.

Kane rushes to the ice, sending Hayes back to the bench. I grip my stick and pick up the pace. The puck slips out from under Kane’s stick.

“Gavno,” I grunt.

Alexeyev, a Flames player born and raised in Moscow, growls before trying to throw an elbow into my chest.

I move behind the net, where most players aren’t comfortable, and turn and put my back toward him.

We’re a good match. Tall, strong, and fucking fast.

The puck jolts to the right, and I have it pressed against the wall.

“Idi nakhuy.” The Russian slips from my mouth by accident, but it trips Alexeyev up. He pauses, likely due to surprise, and I smirk. Not everyone knows that I’m part-Russian since I added the A to my last name years ago. I love to use that to my advantage.

I wind my stick back and send it flying across the ice.

In hockey, plays move quickly. Offense switches to defense in the blink of an eye.

But to me, things are slow.

The crowd ceases to exist. The puck slaps Malaki’s stick, and it soars through the legs of Barret and hits the back of the net.

I grin and raise my stick in the air.

Malaki does his godforsaken celly, sending the fans into a frenzy.

The buzzer sounds and cancels out the sound of Alexeyev’s Russian slander in my direction.

He heads right for me.

My blood runs hot.

I don’t engage in fighting on the ice…unless provoked.

One hit to my jaw, and fists are flying.

Though, they’re not mine.

To no surprise, Kane is front and center, coming to my rescue.

Or most likely fueling his fill of aggression—as always.

We all have our reasons for getting into hockey. I became dangerously obsessed with it when my father left. It filled a gap in my life. For Kane? I suspect he was an angry child, and he got into hockey for the mere fact that it helped calm him.

It just turns out he’s a damn good player.

Angry, but good.

“That’s enough, Kane.” I grab him by the collar of his jersey.

The Flames back off with the help of the refs, and the teams begin heading back into the locker rooms to reset. Kane brushes me off, no one saying a word about the fight. We both step off the ice, and he glances at me.

His grin is bloody. “Just remember me coming to your rescue later when you want to punch me.”

I pause, and he winks.

“Why are you like this?”

My thoughts immediately go to Sunny. He’s been talking about her since the moment he laid eyes on her. I know it’s only to irritate me, because that’s just him.

His laugh is manic, and goddamn, he’s a crazy son of a bitch.

Before following him, I decided to backtrack. I turn and glance at the suite. I spot Ellie first, as always. She has her back pressed against the glass with her now messy braids swinging over her shoulders. I see cotton candy in her hand. She must have talked Sunny into getting it for her.

I plead with myself to turn around and head to the locker room, but my eyes betray me. Sunny’s warm brown hair pulled into a messy knot grabs my attention like a magnet. I stare at her bouncing bun for a second before something cools my heated skin.

Where the fuck did she get that jersey?

My fists clench.

I glance down the long dark hallway, ignoring the curious looks from fans.

First up, Sunny.

Next up, Kane.