Page 104 of Over the Line

“Eh, he’s fine.” Jasmine grinned. “Goalies are all insane, so it suits him.”

Nick, Charli, and I laughed.

“Is that really true?” Nick asked. “That goalies are nuts?”

Jasmine nodded emphatically. “All of them. It’s like a job requirement.” She ticked off points on her fingers. “They have to be super tall, ridiculously flexible, and absolutely bugfuck insane.”

Someone cleared their throat emphatically, and we both turned around. Jasmine covered her mouth and squeaked.

“What?” Nick asked. “What did I miss?”

I had the same question.

The gray-haired woman behind us rolled her eyes. The blonde beside her, though, smothered a giggle and elbowed the other. “Relax. She’s totally right.” To us, the blonde said, “Chase is my husband.”

“And my son,” the other woman said through tight lips.

“Sorry,” Jasmine said, though she didn’t sound terribly contrite.

“Don’t be.” Chase’s wife laughed. “If he wasn’t absolutely nuts, he’d never be able to put up with me.”

The older man beside Chase’s mother chuckled. “You said it, not us.”

He and his daughter-in-law laughed. His wife did not.

We just turned around and faced the action again. I hoped the woman wasn’t truly offended; she had, after all, raised a goalie, so she couldn’t be too surprised by it all.

Below us, the players whipped up and down the ice. Portland had a disastrous turnover in the neutral zone, which led to a breakaway that had us all on our feet screaming our encouragement. There was a scoring chance, but the opposing netminder stopped it, and a whistle blew. Everyone in the arena seemed to exhale at the same time—this sport was nothing if not intense.

As the two teams did line changes, the Jumbotron switched to the bench, and my heart fluttered. Liam was looking at an iPad, Temo peering over his shoulder and gesturing at something. Sweat dripped from the ends of Liam’s hair and down the sides of his face, and his jaw worked as he nodded along with whatever his teammate was saying.

Christ. He had no business being that hot.

Why am I out of breath?

Good thing the super intense game gave me a believable cover; half the arena was probably out of breath at a given moment because holy shit, this game.

By the second period, the score was tied 1-1. There’d been a revolving door on both penalty boxes since halfway through the second, and with each killed penalty, both teams got even chippier. Five minutes into this period, there was a fight. Before those two players had finished serving their penalties, there was another scrum, but they only got called for roughing.

Nick whistled. “Wow. They’re spicy tonight.”

“I thought there was always fighting in hockey,” Charli said.

“Not as often as you’d think,” Jasmine said. “Especially at this level, they really don’t fight very often.”

“What a crock,” Nick muttered. “I want to see fights, damn it.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You’ve seen two! What more do you want?”

“Three!”

I just chuckled.

Below us, Portland was making a drive for Pittsburgh’s goal. They’d caught the defense flatfooted and made a solid zone entry, and now they were setting up, cycling as if they were on a power play.

I held my breath. This late in a tied game, a single goal could decide who won.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered as I watched Portland closing in on the net. They shot—Barns deflected it. Shot again—Temo blocked it, which had him limping. A skater set up for a third shot and⁠—