Page 13 of Game Misconduct

“Because I was thinking you and me could?—”

“We’re. Not. Doing. Anything,” Leif said, shoving Tanner against the boards and pinning him in place.

He was hit with a dizzy feeling of being in two places at once.

All he could smell was sweaty uniform funk at the moment but for the briefest second they were back in that alley with Tanner’s scent in his nose and his hand on his dick and …

“You know you want me, Ice Princess. I make you melt,” Tanner shot back, and then he somehow had the fucking puck and …

Leif bellowed with rage and tore after him, but it was too late. Tanner was wheeling around the net and firing the puck to Anker Henriksen.

He tore up the ice with it and snapped it toward New York’s goal.

Thank fuck their goaltender, Roman Poole, swatted the puck out of the air, smothering it so Boston couldn’t get in there and get a goal.

Leif breathed a sigh of relief.

If he’d let Tanner rattle him enough to set up two goals tonight, he’d never forgive himself.

But the score remained tied 2–2 through the end of the third period and the New York bench let out a collective groan as they headed to overtime.

In the locker room during the break, Pittman looked around the room. “Boston’s tired,” he said, pacing. “They went into OT last night as well. They’re gonna start slowing down. I want you to keep up the pressure. Run them fucking ragged, antagonize them until they make a stupid, sloppy mistake, andget the puck in the back of their fucking net. I don’t care how good Webber is, you find an opportunity. Batter him with pucks until he slips up.”

So, fueled and hydrated, Leif went out on the ice for overtime.

Pittman’s plan worked too.

Forty seconds in, a cross-check from Luke Crawford on Mirsad Renner sent him to the box.

New York kept up the zone pressure and before Crawford was out of the box, Leif managed to strip the puck from Tanner, race up the ice, and snipe the puck into the top shelf.

As his teammates piled on to celebrate their win, Leif glanced over at Tanner, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Allowing himself a moment of pettiness, Leif puckered up and blew him a kiss across the ice.

“Leif, you were particularly fired up tonight. Is there a reason for that?” A reporter held out her phone to Leif as he sat in his stall for the post-game media scrum.

Leif forced himself to take a deep breath. “I was just trying to play my best out there. Focus on my game.”

“It seemed like there was an extra edge out there. Is that because of the New York-Boston rivalry?”

“That’s always part of it.” Leif raked his damp hair off his forehead.

“And what about your interactions with Tanner Clayton?”

“What about them?” he snapped.

Her expression faltered for a moment. “Well, they were … particularlynoticeabletonight. Was there a reason for that?”

“Tanner and I have always had a competitive rivalry,” he said as cooly as he could manage. “Much like Renner and Crawford. It worked in New York’s favor tonight.”

Leif sped through his post-game routine as quickly as possible and when he walked out of the locker room, he found someone waiting for him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, and he had his head down, busy on his phone.

Leif hadn’t been sure if he’d come or not. The team was flying back to Boston, and it wasn’t always possible for him to stay in New York an extra day and take an early commercial flight back to Boston the following day.

But they tried to accommodate him as much as possible.

“Glad you could do dinner tonight,” Leif said honestly.