The Perfect Shot|18+

9

"Will you move? I have other players to photograph." I'm trying to sound irritated, but there's a grin tugging on my lips, and he notices, smiling twice as hard.

"So demanding," he chides. Bending at the waist, he whispers, "Luckily for you, that really turns me on."

***

When the game begins, I realize Mattie and Levi weren't kidding about the Phoenix Cardinals being aggressive. The crowd was screaming awful, vulgar things at Connor and the boys as soon as they skated onto the ice, the famous four, and since I've been spending more time with them, I've come to grow protective over them in a way. I didn't like what the people behind me were shouting one bit. Especially towards Connor.

And that isn't even the worst of it. The players for the Cardinals are antagonizing them. Apparently, they beat them in the finals last year, and they make it known whenever they're on our end of the rink. It's a close game, 2-2, and we're in the third and final period.

My eyes remain focused on number three, and I don't know what changed about my feelings for him, but he isn't all that bad of a guy. He's flirtatious and slightly annoying, but he's also charming, witty, and can be funny at times. I guess I don't hate him anymore. How could I claim to feel that way when my heart stutters every time he skates by me?

None of these revelations change the future for us. We still work together, and there's still a no-fraternization policy. We had one fun night in the Maldives five years ago, but it isn't going to happen again. No matter how much Connor seems to believe otherwise.

When the puck heads towards our end of the rink again, I peek through the lens of my camera, attempting to follow the puck. Connor has it, using his stick to his advantage as he shields the puck from a defenseman. Another defenseman sneaks up to Connor's side, who quickly dodges him and shoots it around the goal to Cal, the right wing.

But Connor doesn't notice one of the opposing team's players coming in hot behind him. He doesn't see him when the player deliberately hauls him into the wall, causing the barrier between the rink and the stands to shake. The refs do absolutely nothing, but I read up on the rules of hockey a few nights ago. I thought it was a penalty if a player intentionally hits another from behind without them being aware of it?

"Where the fuck is the call, ref?" The coach flies up from the bench, throwing his clipboard to the ground.

But Connor is already on it, shoving the player back with his hands, and getting into a full-blown fistfight directly in front of me. Now the refs blow the whistle, skating over to try and break them apart.

"Fucking pussy," Connor sneers. "Too scared to hit me head-on?"

The man opposite of him smiles a cocky grin. "Just doing what I have to do in order to win this game. The refs weren't looking. Off to the penalty box you go, Holden."

Connor lunges at him again, being held back by Levi, who skated away from the goal and the refs. "It's not fucking worth it," he says to try and calm him down. "Let them be cheaters if they want to be."

"Fucking piece of shit!" Connor shouts. Then, he spits in his direction, and I am completely aware of how wrong it is for me to be turned on at this moment. Heat pools between my thighs, racing through me in a lust-filled wave as I snap a photo of him. Behind the helmet, his eyes are filled with a lethal rage. It's the first time I've seen a raw, unfiltered version of him where no mask exists at all, and as I shield the camera to take a look at the photo, I'm breathless.

Connor Holden might just be my new favorite subject.

***

As the other player predicted, Connor was sent to the penalty box, which left them down a player for five minutes of gameplay. Because of that, the Phoenix Cardinals ended up winning, and I could feel the icy anger oozing off the players as they left the bench to head for the locker room.