Page 47 of Over the Line
He gave a playfully haughty scoff. “Of course we did!” Raising his glass, he added a smug, “Which forced a game seven, which we won.”
“Nice.”
We exchanged glances and both chuckled.
Onscreen, San Jose was taking full advantage of their power play. They had Philly hemmed into their end, cycling the puck around and around the exhausted penalty killers. The fatigue was definitely showing; all four penalty killers were getting just sluggish enough to give the power play the advantage they needed.
A San Jose defenseman at the point got the puck, and a Philly player moved, anticipating a pass to the forward waiting by one of the faceoff dots. The Philly player was wiped, and he was too slow to react when the defenseman instead whipped the puck right past him to a different player. That player snapped the puck on net, and the goalie—who also hadn’t anticipated the play—couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
Liam whistled, shaking his head. “Man, I would not want to be in that locker room next intermission.”
“Think it’ll be a rough speech?”
He grimaced, and I think he actually shuddered as he picked up his drink. “Never been my favorite part of the sport, let me tell you.”
“Oh yeah? You’ve sat through a few?”
“Have you seen some of the games we’ve played?”
“Fair point. Uh… no offense.”
He laughed and waved his hand. “None taken. It isn’t like I don’t know about those games. I was there.”
“I don’t imagine those were fun nights.”
“Ugh. No. They’re always awful.” He started to say something else, but right then, one of the commentators declared, “And here comes Gibbs with a slick reach-around to steal the puck—”
I didn’t hear the rest because Liam and I were absolutely howling.
“A slick reach-around?” I wheezed. “Are you kidding me?”
Liam was just wiping his eyes and shaking his head. He couldn’t even speak.
The commentator wasn’t done yet either. “Gibbs is determined to get into Sarkkinen’s backdoor before this night is over.”
“Oh, come on!” Liam flailed so hard, he dropped an icepack and almost knocked his drink off the end table. “Really?”
The commentators kept commentating, the innuendoes kept coming, and we kept laughing. And fuck me, I kept losing my ability to think.
Every time this man laughed, my brain short-circuited. Every time he smiled or breathed or existed…
What the hell? Still? I still couldn’t keep my shit together around him?
I glanced his way again. I mean, who wouldn’t lose their mind around him? And it only got worse the longer I interacted with him, because it wasn’t just that he was so physically attractive. The wicked sense of humor. The way he laughed when he and his teammates were chirping and sharing ridiculous stories. That soft smile when he’d been holding Crawford’s baby at Thanksgiving so her dad could step out and grab a drink. The way he’d effortlessly settled her when she’d been fussing and happily bounced her until her dad came back. How stupidly cute he’d been when he’d carried one of Temo’s kids out to the car. That playfully innocent look when one of the guys accused him of something he’d absolutely done.
He was the whole damn package. I didn’t even care that he was rich or that he was a famous athlete. The big house, the McLaren, the giant banners with his face on them down at the arena—those were cool and all, but they were like birthday candles trying to pull my attention away from a fireworks show.
Even the handful of people I’d been intimate with since my divorce hadn’t scrambled my brain the way Liam did. All he had to do was laugh, and I was instantly as stupid and nervous and speechless as I’d been in the seconds leading up to some of the hottest moments of my life.
And… I mean…
The physical attraction was definitely there too. There was a reason Liam had been on numerous magazine covers, and those covers hadn’t all been because of his hockey prowess.
Sweet as a Saint, Sexy as Sin: Liam St. Clair like you’ve never seen him before.
Hot off the ice: Canadian menswear designer signs its first pro athlete as model.
Athletes Bare it All (Mostly) – The Hockey Issue.
