With Lacey's verbal warning about game day photos, I made sure I didn't miss them this time, arriving an hour early to wait for the team's bus to arrive at the arena. I wasn't the only one waiting for their arrival, with other paparazzi stationed alongside the barricades and random girls around my age who obviously had connections to be there.

The girls couldn't stop talking about Connor and what he'd be wearing to tonight's game, and, despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake the lingering feeling of jealousy. This weird territorial part of me wanted to tell them to shut up, and why do I feel this way? It's not like I have any right to stake a claim on him. Sure, Connor mentioned we'd buy a house together someday, but when it boils down to it, that's just what he says to get into a girl's pants. We're not together. We're just...

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the bus arrives at the curb, the girls trying but failing to hide their squeals of excitement. I roll my eyes as I squat down and ready my camera, waiting for the doors to open. And when they do...

Holy

Fucking

Shit.

One after one, the boys file out dressed in their best outfits. I mentally curse myself for not capturing these looks the last time because...wow. I can see why Lacey was pissed. The thirst traps these men are giving...

Levi comes down in a maroon-tailored suit that seems painted on his body. His white smile is radiant against his deep, tan skin. I capture it instantly, and his eyes flicker to the shutters, sending me a wink. "Nice to see you, Aria."

I send a quick wave. "Hi, Levi. Good luck tonight."

With a salute, he stops to sign one of the shirts a girl is waving in front of him before disappearing behind the doors. Connor is next, and his eyes are fixated on mine as he steps off the bus. He knows what type of shot I need. That, or he's teasing me just for the hell of it. In a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a loose-fitted t-shirt, a silver chain dangles from his neck, and a backward white ball cap holds back his curls. He stares straight into the lens, knowing I'm looking, and with a seductive little grin, he removes his hat to rake a hand through his curls, shaking them out before he replaces it. He's chewing a piece of gum, his jawline working overtime, and I swear, I've never seen a more attractive man.

The girls beside me are overjoyed as they call out his name, damn near about to have a heart attack. At first, I thought they were being dramatic, but now, as Connor sends a wink right into the lens, I can't say I blame them.

He strides for the door, and I'm expecting him to acknowledge the girls in some way, but all he does is dip a chin in their direction before he stops right in front of me, one of his dimples poking out. "You're drooling, baby," he teases.

"Correction: you wish I were drooling."

He shrugs, his eyes dipping down to my generic jersey. The one without his number on it. "Disappointing," he mutters. "The number three looked so good on you."

"Will you move? I have other players to photograph." I'm trying to sound irritated, but a grin tugs at 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 overlooks 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 nothing, but I read up on hockey rules a few nights ago. I thought it was a penalty if a player intentionally hits another from behind without them being aware.

"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 before 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 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 entirely aware of how wrong it is for me to be turned on now. 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 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 won, and I could feel the icy anger oozing off the players as they left the bench to head for the locker room.

What happened tonight wasn't fair. The refs made a bad call. Connor didn't deserve to be reprimanded for something that wasn't his fault.

And I don't know why I decided to linger outside the locker room, but I have nothing better to do than wait for everyone. After all, we're staying in a hotel tonight until our plane leaves tomorrow to head back to LA. I've got nothing but time.

In actuality, I know there's a more significant reason: to check in on Connor. He was hurt pretty badly during the game. A hit like that had to be painful. More importantly, I've never seen him that angry before.

When he exits the locker room freshly showered, he stills when he notices me leaning against the wall, arching a brow. "Aria?" He questions. "I thought you'd be back at the hotel already."

"I..." Fuck, what was I going to say? "I should be, but I..."

Connor closes the distance between us, keeping his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Levi told me a reporter approached you after the game about buying a photo of the fight. He said you refused to sell one to him."

"I did."

"Can I ask why?"

I hold his stare. "Because you did nothing wrong tonight. Your reaction was warranted. It may not have been the best reaction, but it was warranted nonetheless. I don't think you should be punished for that. Having your fight making headlines will only hurt your reputation."

Connor's lips twitch, threatening a smile. "You care for me."

My face blanches. "What? No, I don't."

"You do. Instead of making extra cash, you turned it down to help my image. I owe you a thank you."

I wrinkle my nose. "You owe me nothing. It's the decent human thing to do." A few beats pass before I add, "I don't care for you."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say."

Levi, Matti, and Cal exit the locker room together, pausing when they see how close the two of us are. I immediately step away from Connor, giving us a wide berth, and I don't miss the tremor in his jaw at how much distance is now between us.

"We're going out for drinks," Mattie says. "I need a fucking shot after that one."

"There's a bar down the street from the hotel," Levi adds. "We'll drop our stuff off and then head over there. Are you coming, Connie?"

Connie.

I like that nickname.

Raking a hand through his damp curls, Connor sighs and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

The three teammates exchange glances, and even I know his refusal to go out is rare. Connor is usually the life of the party, but tonight's game clearly has him fucked up. He's in his head about it, and should I care? No, but seeing him like this... When he's not his full, goofy self?

I step away from the wall and cock an eyebrow. "Suit yourself, Connie. I guess I'll outdrink the rest of these guys by myself."

His eyes pop up to mine. "You're going?"

"If I'm being honest, I could also use a drink or two." And I really could. After the nightmare and lack of sleep returning in full force, I need a good night's rest. It annoys the hell out of me that, in Connor's arms, I sleep like a goddamn baby. But I can't have him, so liquor will have to do the trick.

"I guess I'll be joining, then."

Seeming satisfied, the boys lug their duffel bags towards the bus, and Connor tugs the camera bag strap off my shoulder, hauling it onto his instead. "Ride the bus back to the hotel with us," he says. "We'll leave from there together."

We'll leave from there together.

The sentence sounds so...domesticated. We aren't in a relationship, but these butterflies... I haven't felt like this in a long fucking time, and the last time I felt like this was five years ago with the same man giving them to me now.

I'm utterly fucked. He is a professional hockey player, for crying out loud. The minute he gets into my pants again, I know I'll be old news. Connor likes the chase, but it's moments like these when I sit beside him on the bus and he wraps an arm over my shoulder where I think that maybe, in my overly hopeful heart, it could be more than just the chase.

Connor's lips tilt up into a grin. "You sure you're ready for this?"

He really should pull his arm off my shoulder, and it doesn't escape me that I don't make him move it. The Coach isn't on the bus, and it's dark in here, but how was the last photographer discovered? Someone had to mention something. I don't know who we can or can't trust. Then again, an arm around my shoulder doesn't mean we're breaking the rules. It just feels scandalous from how fast my blood is pumping.

I peer up at him in the darkness of the bus. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He chuckles. "Well, the last time we drank whiskey, Aria, things got very interesting."

Have I mentioned that I'm utterly fucked?

Author's Note:

Again, why am I not surprised you reached the goal overnight???

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