Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance (Sinners on the Ice)
Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance: Chapter 24

Now, October

Roman is moodier than usual today. He hit Karlsson from the Vegas team so hard he busted his lip. All because the guy checked Crawford into the board. A few minutes in the penalty box definitely cooled him off, but it didn’t last long. He’s vicious and brutal, and I’m curious to know why.

Though I can’t say I’m any better. It’s been almost two weeks since I saw Layla in person, and it’s driving me up the wall a little bit—or a lot, considering today is the first game of the regular season, she’s here with Maya, and I’m not fucking playing again.

Dammit.

I’m watching the game from the bench. Vegas is one of the best teams in the league, and they are clearly dominating the ice. When we headed to the locker room after the first period, they were winning two to one. Now it’s the second period, and I don’t think we’ve really improved our game. Or maybe Vegas is that good.

Admitting when and how your opponent is better than you is crucial if you ever want to succeed. It can help you learn from your mistakes, improve the quality of your game, and get the results everyone is so desperate for.

I stand up and step closer to the board to get a better look at what’s happening on the ice. My nerves are on fucking fire, making me restless. She’s here, and I’m not playing. It’s our first game of the regular season, and I’m not playing. We’re losing, and I’m not fucking playing. I can’t do anything to help my team from the bench.

Fuck it.

Andy, an assistant coach, extends water to me. I take it, grumbling thanks under my breath, watching as our line changes. Roman’s mood matches my own with how he slumps on the bench, murder in his eyes. Something is definitely bothering him, but at least he has his wife rooting for him. Even if that little minx came to her husband’s first game wearing Benson’s jersey.

Just like Layla. She’s wearing the wrong jersey too.

I dare to look, replaceing her in the crowd right away since I know where she’s sitting. Maya is on her lap, her attention focused on the phone in Michael’s hands. Layla, on the other hand, has her eyes glued to the ice. She’s always loved hockey, because her brother plays, and because the game fascinates her. We spent hours watching games, talking about our favorite players, and it never felt forced. She was into it…just as much as I was into her.

The roar in the arena becomes louder, and I notice Colton and Drake heading toward the Vegas net. If they score now, the game will be tied, and we can use the third period to finally take the initiative and win the fucking game.

C’mon, Colt, I know you can do it.

He passes the puck to Drake, and for a moment, I expect him to seize the opportunity. But instead of sending the puck flying into the Vegas net, he returns it to Colton. And, with a precise snap shot, Colt sends the puck right past the Vegas goalie. I pump my fist in the air. Two to two, baby! That goal was definitely what the team and the fans needed because the arena goes insane with cheers and shouts. Nothing is lost yet.

As we go into the locker room at the end of the second period, I don’t feel as bummed as I was. A win would make me feel better; it’d save me from feeling disappointed that I sat on the bench again. I knew what I was signing up for during my first year with the Thunders, but it’s hard not to be upset. Especially after I was starting in Chicago.

“You did great,” I tell Colton, sitting down on the bench beside him. He’s breathing hard as he pours water into his mouth.

“Thanks,” he says once he swallows. “You okay?” He lowers his voice. “I know you hate not playing.”

I snort. “I do, but what can I do about it? I talked to Coach several times. It’s not like I can force him to start me.”

“You can.” Colt shrugs. “Prove it next time he puts you in.”

“If—”

“No, when,” he states confidently. “Coach knows you’re a great goalie. He knows he can count on you. All you need is the chance to make it known to everyone.”

“I’ll probably only play away games.” Which means she won’t be there.

“And you’re not happy about that?” He arches an eyebrow at me.

“I am, but nothing is set in stone. Besides…” I glance at Drake, who’s talking to Coach. “Layla only comes to home games.”

A mischievous smile lights up his face. “And how do you feel about the jersey she’s wearing?”

“It’s the wrong one.”

Colt laughs. “You and Roman have way more in common than I initially thought. Jealous assholes.” His laughter quickly dies, and he becomes serious in an instant when Coach starts talking about the plan for the third period.

We all definitely want to win.

When the third period started, it felt like the Thunders came back revitalized, both from the goal Colton scored at the end of the second period and from the pep talk Coach gave us in the locker room.

We were playing from the right end, doing well in the defensive zone and putting the pressure on Vegas. It was great to watch, especially with Dale securing the net every time our opponent tried to score.

Drake passes the puck to Crawford, who speeds toward Vegas’s net. Excitement courses through me, and I jump to my feet and watch with the whole arena to see if he’s going to score. With a perfect slap shot, Dean sends the puck flying right into Vegas’s net. Yes! Three to two; we’re fucking winning.

But the joy I feel disappears almost immediately when Vegas challenges for offside, and after a video review, the goal gets overturned when it’s determined that Drake entered the zone before the puck, five seconds prior to Dean scoring. We’re back to two to two, dammit.

The game goes on, and I stand still, refusing to sit down for even a moment. The intensity of the third period gets the best of me. Dale makes a key right-pad save on a Vegas shot from the right circle. He’s good—really good—and I admire his determination. He’s also nice, not an asshole who tries to rub it in my face that I’m not the starter. I respect him a lot.

Two minutes before the third period ends, things change drastically. Järvinen from the Vegas team scores again, going around Roman and tucking the puck around Dale’s right pad. It makes the score three to two.

And unfortunately, no matter how much our team tries to come back and tie the game again, it’s useless. Vegas’s third goal unsettled our team and made them restless.

When the game ends, “3–2” is displayed on the jumbotron, and defeat makes my shoulders slump. The first game of the regular season…the first home game…and we lost. It’s not the result we wanted.

And it fucking makes me mad.

I’m one of the first players to leave the arena even despite me taking a moment to introduce Dylan to Dean Crawford. With how his eyes sparkled appreciatively when he shook her hand, I knew I made the right decision. Hopefully something good will come out of it. Dylan is a nice girl, and I’d be happy if she’d have a chance for her own hockey romance—only the real one.

When I walk toward my car, I immediately notice Layla. She’s leaning on my G-Wagon in a leather jacket that covers the jersey she’s wearing and dark blue jeans with white sneakers. Her eyes are on me, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. I smile, speeding up my steps. I don’t know where Maya is, but I do know we don’t have much time. Everyone from the team will be out here soon.

And yet, my soul is fucking singing with the realization that she came here to see me.

“I see you got your car back,” she says.

“I did. Dominic dropped it off last week,” I confirm, then tilt my head. “Hey, Layla.”

“Hi, Clay,” she greets me as I stop in front of her. I curl my arm around her waist and pull her to my chest, my eyes searching hers. “Sorry you lost.”

I nod. My gaze is fixed on her full mouth.

“Sorry you didn’t get to play.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, my mouth hovering over hers. “You’re here, and that feels like winning.”

“I can’t stay long,” she confesses, standing on her tiptoes. Her lips are an inch away from mine. “Angie is looking after Maya.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

Layla nods.

“Will she tell Drake?”

“No, but she asked me not to make her lie to him again.”

“That’s fair.” My hand slides down her round ass, and I almost moan from how good she feels in my arms. It doesn’t help that I’ve spent these last two weeks fantasizing about her in my bed, remembering all the times we secretly met after our breakup. I’m dying to feel her tight little pussy clenching around my dick. It’s all I think about lately.

“I missed you. These FaceTimes and texts aren’t enough.”

“Same.” I squeeze her ass, pressing her even closer to me. Her breathing hitches as her full breasts mold into my chest. God, how much I want all these fucking clothes out from between us.

“Then why are we wasting our time talking?” Layla places a hand on the back of my head. “Kiss me, Clay.”

And I do. I bring my lips to hers, my kiss hard and demanding. Her mouth opens for me, and I slip my tongue inside. We kiss, our hands roaming over each other, our tongues battling for dominance. My dick grows hard, straining against my pants. I thrust my hips into hers, making her feel it. Making her know what her closeness does to me.

When I pull away to take a breath, Layla places her hand on my groin. Our eyes lock, and we stare at each other intently. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth when she skims her fingers to my fly and unzips it. Fuck.

“Layla,” I warn her, my voice husky.

“Clay,” she mimics me, wrapping her hand around my shaft. “God, I almost forgot how fucking huge you are.”

I smile smugly, backing her into my car, shielding her from view in case someone gets off the elevator that opens to the parking lot. She strokes my dick, her eyes trained on me as she does. I press my forehead to hers, my mouth falling open. It feels like fucking heaven.

Her hand starts moving faster, fisting my dick roughly, over and over. I close my eyes. The pleasure building inside me peppers my vision with stars. “I’m gonna come, if you don’t stop. Right in your hand.”

“Then come,” she urges me. Her hand pumps me so fucking hard, I brace myself on my car with my hand, caging her in my embrace. “Come for me, Clay.”

With a low growl, I come, spilling my cum in her hand and in my fucking pants. But fuck if I care. It’s so fucking worth it.

Layla slowly takes her hand out of my pants, and we both stare down at her cum-covered fingers. She lifts her hand and sucks her fingers into her mouth, licking everything off. “Delicious.”

“Come here.” I haul her to me and kiss her lips again, tasting myself on her tongue. We kiss and kiss until we hear the elevator ding. Someone is coming. “I want to see you.”

“I gotta go.” Layla pushes me away and starts to round my car.

“I want to see you,” I repeat, not daring to check who’s coming our way.

“Text me,” she throws over her shoulder, and the next thing I know, she’s gone.

I quickly zip my fly and unlock my car as Drake and Colton emerge from around the corner. That was close.

“Clay?” Colt says, his eyebrows knit together. “I thought you already left.”

“Was on the phone with my dad. Didn’t want to talk and drive,” I lie, my gaze bouncing between them. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“See you,” Drake and Colt say in unison.

I climb into my car and start the engine, watching them walk to their cars. As I drive away, I glance to my left and see Angie in the passenger seat, and then Layla and Maya in the back seat of Drake’s car. A smile grows on my lips as I focus my attention on the road.

My day officially got a thousand times better.

After I get into bed, I grab my phone from the nightstand and send her a text.

I smirk, reading her answer.

I reach in my nightstand drawer and pull out her pink vibrator, the one she left at my house in Chicago the last time she was there. This little piece brings me so many pleasant memories, I can’t contain my smile. I quickly take a picture and send it to her.

And I never get a reply to that one.