Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

TWO HOURS LATER, I’m happily tipsy, surrounded by loud, boisterous hockey players. Jamie’s glued to my side, and he’s had a few drinks. There’s a pink flush across his cheekbones, similar to when he gets out of the shower, and he even smiles a few times. A handful of players keep doing shots from the shot-ski, a series of shots taped crudely onto a ski so all participants need to drink simultaneously, and Hayden ordered a special shot that led to him currently getting spanked with a paddle by the bartender while the bar cheers. In the corner, a band plays, and as we approach midnight, the fun party energy in the bar heightens.

“You going to kiss me at midnight?” Rory asks Hazel.

She holds his gaze, wearing a smug grin. “Go kiss your sex doll.”

“I left her at home.”

I hold back a laugh, and Hazel looks like she’s trying to as well.

He looks to me. “What about you, Pippa? Can I get a spot on your dance card?”

Beside me, Jamie stiffens. “No.”

I glance at him. His arm is up on the booth, but I can feel the heat from him. “My dance card’s full tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Jamie glares at Rory, but before anything can happen, Hayden’s at Jamie’s side. “Streicher, you’re playing pool with us.”

Jamie glances between me and Rory, uncertain.

“Go,” I tell him, tipping my chin at the pool tables. “Hazel will protect me with her sharp teeth.”

Hazel bares her teeth at Jamie, and I laugh. Rory just gazes at Hazel with horny interest.

“Back in a bit.” Jamie’s hand brushes my lower back before he follows Hayden.

“So,” Rory says across the table, “you two.”

My smile is tense, and I shrug at him. “What?”

His gaze is curious and teasing. “He likes you.”

I laugh to myself, and my face feels hot.

“It’s true,” he goes on, nodding. “He likes you more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

His words send a thrill through me, and I hide my smile. Maybe I have feelings for him, but I’m not ready to tell people. I haven’t even fully admitted it to Hazel. “I’m just his assistant,” I lie.

He makes a noise of disbelief. “You’re his something, that’s for sure.”

Thankfully, more players arrive at our table with drinks, interrupting us, and I make conversation while I watch Jamie playing pool with Hayden and Alexei.

“Alright, folks,” the lead singer of the band says into the microphone a few minutes later. “We’re going to take a short break just before midnight, but we have a special treat for you.”

Jamie and Hayden make their way back to our group through the crowd, and Jamie’s eyes are on me.

“We’ve got another musician in the house, and she’s going to sing us a song,” the lead singer says into the mic, and Jamie’s mouth tips up.

My pulse stops.

“Everyone welcome Pippa Hartley!”

My eyes go wide as the bar cheers and applauds, half the patrons turning to look at me as I sit there frozen.

“What?” I ask Jamie as my pulse restarts at a gallop, whooshing in my ears.

He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Get up there, songbird. I want to hear my Christmas present live.”

I meet his eyes, and my lips part. I blink at him, clinging to his gaze.

Performing at the Filthy Flamingo back in Vancouver, there were thirty people there, mostly the team. This place is packed. The crowd around the bar alone is eight people deep. Every chair and booth is full, and it’s standing room only. There are at least two hundred people here.

I’m freaking out.

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head.

Everyone is staring at me.

He holds my gaze, so strong, steady, and full of affection. His mouth curves into a gorgeous smile. “Yes, you can. I know you can.”

I glance around the bar, meeting familiar gazes as they watch and wait. Jamie always thinks I can do it, and every time, he’s been right. A funny feeling cuts through the panic and stage fright—determination. If I don’t do this, I’ll be proving that I’m not right for the music industry. That I’m just that girl who used to date the famous singer.

I want to prove them wrong, and more than anything, I want to prove Jamie right.

“Okay,” I whisper, nodding at Jamie. “Okay.”

His grin stretches across his face, and my pulse stumbles. “Alright.”

God, I love making him proud like that.

I head up to the mic, savoring the brush of his fingers on my lower back as I pass him. The crowd applauds, and I take the guitar handed to me on stage, slipping the strap over my shoulder before I stand at the mic and stare out at the crowd.

It’s just like the first time, when I stepped up to the mic in the bar after Jamie made me that deal. My heart’s beating like a drum and I’m hyperaware of everyone waiting.

“I’m Pippa Hartley,” I say into the mic, and my voice is strong and clear. “And this is a song about revenge.”

The crowd whoops, excited and drunk, and I meet Jamie’s gaze. He gives me a firm nod, still smiling, and I launch into it. I sing the song about getting back up after getting stepped on, the one that makes me feel strong and powerful. My voice rings out, and I dig deep, giving the song everything. On the last round of the chorus, I stop playing the guitar while I sing. The audience claps in time, and I beam back at them as I sing.

A woman near the small stage hollers in support and appreciation, and I wink at her. My chest bursts with energy and pride, and I’m flying high. I finish the song with full commitment, and when I play the last chord, the roof blows off the bar.

It’s euphoria. I’m floating, gliding higher than ever, heart racing and skin tingling. I’ve never felt like this, and I already know I’m addicted.