Page 8 of Dangle

Coach’s words rang in my head even with the jumbotron zoomed in on my parents, making me even more doubtful. With a deep breath, I looked at the guy with his hand out, taking in the name embroidered on his polo. “Thanks, Matty.”

“Um, it’s Matt.”

I chuckled, looking over my shoulder at him as I stepped on the ice. “That’s what I said.”

The pissy, angry kitten look made him hotter. It also made my dick twitch.

Over Equipment Guy Matty’s shoulder, Coach Storm rolled his eyes at me and shook his head.

I shrugged with a smirk, feeling very thankful for the cold air filling the rink, which allowed me to pass off the blush creeping up my neck to my face as something else.

I fell in next to Isaiah and Isaac, circling the rink to warm up and hype the crowd. The twins side-eyed me, and I wanted to laugh at the fuckers. So predictable I could time it.

3…

2…

1…

“You good?” Isaiah asked.

The laugh that burst forth drew the attention of the rest of the team. All of us were in a good mood. Aiden Mercer, Mercy, our starting center, skated around us, dancing to the music, finally back on the ice after being out following a head injury.

The twins and I skidded to a stop, dropping to the ice to stretch. Aiden joined us.

“Glad you’re fucking back, Mercy!” I called to Aiden. “This is just for you!”

Aiden nodded. The playlist that blared through the speakers contained all his favorite songs. We had to celebrate our boy’s return to the ice.

“Listen to that fucking crowd, man,” Ethan Ruggers said when he came to a stop beside me.

“Best music on the planet,” Aiden said as the first song the media team had ever played for him took over the PA system.

“Hell fucking yeah, boys!” I yelled as I humped the air.

What could I say? I loved the damn song myself.

The crowd erupted. The puck bunnies screamed. Fans beat the glass. All of it merged into a level of sound that turned from ear-piercing to deafening.

“It’s a fucking beaut, boys!” Isaac said before jumping to his feet, spinning on his blades to face the fans yelling lyrics into theinvisible microphone he held. The crowd yelled them back when he stretched the imaginary mic out toward the stands.

We scrambled to our feet as a group when the music switched. “Fuck, yeah. Let’s go!”

Giving Aiden a push, I tore around our half of the rink, building up speed even though I spun from forward to backward. Every time I got close to the boards, I beat on the glass.

Equipment Guy Matty rolled his eyes at me. I winked at him but then nearly fell on my ass.

Holy fucking shitballs. Hello, Daddy.

Several rows back—blond-haired, bearded-faced, beer-sipping—sat the most gorgeous fucking man. At six-three and built more like a defenseman than a forward, rarely did I meet a man bigger than me or who could manhandle me. But this guy? Fuck me. Even sitting down, I could tell he was built: big, athletic, and into some heavy lifting if the stretched sleeves of his Henley were anything to go by.

Skating closer to the glass, I stared up at him with a smirk.

Wanting to make an impression, I turned my gaze back to the ice, pushing myself across the surface, building up speed and momentum. The laps I’d skated, flipping from forward to backward without losing momentum, were just the tip of the iceberg. My mother taught me tricks that were fucking huge and insanely technical—very impressive. Only, I couldn’t go big, not in hockey skates, but I could at least…

Knees bent, I pressed my skates into the ice, leaping into the air…

One.