Page 25 of Apple of My Eye

I hesitated, then met his eyes. Big mistake. His gaze burned into me, the temperature in the cab of the truck rising by the second between us. “Thanks, Knox. For everything. Making that call to your dad, setting this opportunity up.. Driving me down here, and borrowing the truck from the store.” I huffed a quiet laugh. “The list of things I owe you for is getting kind of long.”

His cocky smirk couldn’t be misinterpreted. “I’ve got a few ideas on how you can thank me.”

Goosebumps crept across my neck. I pushed open the truck door before he could say anything else to fan the flames he’d ignited in me.

“I’m sure you do. And on that note,” I chuckled, stepping out into the cool air of the parking lot, “I’m going to go into the bank and deposit this before you get any more ideas.”

He laughed behind me, and I didn’t look back as I headed toward the bank doors, the check clutched in my hand and my pulse racing.

By the timewe made it to the arena of the Montana Frostbite, the parking lot had filled with trucks and cars. People streamed toward the entrance in jerseys and boots, wearing the colors of frosty blue and orange, the energy of the crowd buzzing in a way that felt bigger than anything back home.

I zipped up my jacket as we walked inside, glancing about at the chatter, the movement, the sheer number of people.

“All of these people for one hockey game.” I shook my head.

“People are passionate about professional sports. For an expansion team to end up here in Montana is a big deal. You’ll get used to the crowd. By the second period, you’ll be cheering and dancing in your seat.” Knox assured me.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I quipped. “And how many periods are there?”

“Three periods of twenty minutes each. Two intermissions,” he explained. I calculated less than two hours to suffer through this. “You don’t know much about the sport?”

“Definitely not.” Truth was, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something like this for purely entertainment. Any outings I took typically revolved around work or responsibility or making sure everything stayed afloat.

Knox handed the tickets to the attendant inside the entrance. We passed through security and headed to our seats through the crowd. It turned out, our seats were front row, along the glass, perfect center view of the ice.

“After the game, you’ll get to meet my brother,” he reminded.

“Ah. The famous Maddox Alexander. I’ll finally see why women swoon over him.”

He winked. “The same reason why you swoon around me, sweetheart.”

“Oh, is that what I’ve been doing this whole time?”

“Yep, maybe locked deep inside of you, but I think I’m wearing you down day by day.” He stretched and rested his arm across the back of my seat.

As his fingertips brushed my jacket along my shoulder, I took in his profile from his prominent forehead down his nose, to his full lips not too hidden under a beard and mustache. He’d pulled his hair back tonight in a man-bun, and I wasn’t sure which I preferred, but his locks loose and free always made my stomach flutter. Late at night, alone in my bed, I imagined running my fingers through his hair.

An attendant appeared by his side on the aisle with a blue and orange gift bag in his hand. “Knox Alexander?”

“That’s me.” He twisted to take what was offered.

“Compliments of Maddox Alexander.” He left it with us.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Knox opened it and read a card aloud. “‘Don’t think this gift is for you. It’s for that pretty woman by your side, asswipe. Signed, Maddox.’ That cocky fucker.” He pulled out a jersey with the name Alexander on the back of it.

“For me?” I exclaimed.

“You’re not wearing it,” he grumbled and set the bag on the floor, practically kicking it under his seat. “He’s just playing around.”

“Why shouldn’t I wear it? You have a Montana Frostbite sweatshirt on.”

“Because of the rule, sweetheart. You wear a guy’s jersey, he claims you as his. Nah, he meant as a joke just to get to me, but I’ll be damned if he claims you before I do.”

I snorted and laughed. “What do you mean, like that silly rule ‘you wear a cowboy’s hat you ride the cowboy’ sort of thing?”

“Exactly.” His jaw ticked.

“It’s not for real. I could wear any man’s cowboy hat or jersey, but it doesn’t mean he’s claimed me unless I decide it’s so.”