Page 92 of Cross Check
“I’m going to find a couple people. I’ll catch up with y’all later?”
“Text me,” Maverick says. “We’re just hanging out tonight.”
I weave through my competitors who stop me for a handshake and a congratulations. I finally make it to the back hallway of the rink where it’s quiet, but I frown when I realize I probably missed Amelia leaving.
I try not to let myself be too disappointed—I just won the Skills event, for fuck’s sake—but then I spot her leaning against the wall, and I’m so happy, I could fucking burst.
She has on one of her usual outfits: flared slacks, a pair of black heels, and a red shirt she’s tucked into her pants. What’s different are the rings and necklaces and earrings she’s wearing. I didn’t notice the jewelry from the ice, and my throat goes dry at the three studs on the curve of her ear.
“Is that a really big trophy, Everett, or are you just happy to see me?” She walks my way with long strides, and I bark out a laugh. “Congratulations!”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I hold up the trophy, admiring the prize. “And thanks. Wouldn’t have been possible without your help.”
“I’m proud of you.” Her diamond earrings flash in the light, and I reach out to touch them. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve never seen you wear jewelry.”
“I keep it to a minimum when I’m behind the bench.” Amelia hesitates. “I don’t want someone to say I’m distracting. The more I express myself with clothes and jewelry and makeup, the more ammunition I give people who find a way to correlate it to my coaching ability.”
“You can wear it around me.” I drop my hand, stepping back. Please, I want to add. “All jewelry is welcome.”
I need to make a thousand new additions to my notebook. It’s waiting for me in the hotel room, and I’m itching to get back to it.
Loves jewelry
Likes to buy herself nice things
Prefers silver over gold (I think)
“Tell you what: next time I see you, I’ll wear my jewelry if you wear your crop top,” she says.
“That’s a deal.” I laugh. “Doing anything fun tonight?”
“Meeting up with a few people. It should be quiet.” Her eyes flick from the trophy to my face. “I’m not sold on going to a club tomorrow night, but maybe I can be persuaded.”
“I’m not sold on going to a club tomorrow night either, but Mav is going to blow up my phone until I drag my ass downstairs and go. I might as well save myself from the text messages and phone calls that will keep me up all night. We can suffer together.”
“Mutual suffering does sound better than solo anguish. We’ll see what happens.” She shrugs. “In the meantime, have fun celebrating tonight. Don’t get in any trouble.”
“I’m a good boy, Amelia.” My victory has made me bold. “I know how to behave.”
Her eyes turn a shade darker. I swear I’m not imagining things when she lets out a low laugh that hits me right behind the ribs. Amelia follows it up with a hum, and she drags her nails down the front of my jersey in the faintest of grazes.
“Glad to hear it,” she murmurs, tossing me a parting smirk before sauntering down the hall. “Later, Everett.”
“Later,” I echo, rendered fucking useless.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Three minutes with her were worth more than the check in my pocket.
I’m never getting over this fucking crush.
THIRTY
AMELIA
The clinic with Emmy runs smoothly on Saturday morning, and watching the All-Star Game from the stands instead of being in the middle of the action is a nice change of pace. I’m exhausted by the time I rattle off my name to the guy out front of a sleek-looking building that night, but I rally with a smile when he welcomes me inside.
