I blink as one of the men on the bench suddenly jerks to his feet, his eyes locked on me like he's looking at a ghost. He's beautiful in a way that screams trouble—wild dark hair, stunning green eyes, a dangerous curve to his lips. Good God. Not even the thick layer of pads obscures how damn big he is. The man rivals a frigging sequoia.
"Who the fuck are you?" He practically lunges toward me like a wild man, his eyes locked on my face.
I've never played hockey before—or any other sport for that matter—and I'm suddenly, intensely relieved. Having a hulking giant barreling toward you in full gear is intimidating as hell.
It's also a little sexy. Or maybe that's just him.
I wouldn't mind being taken up against the boards by this man. What? No. That's not what I mean.
I take a step back, only to end up pressed against the wall beside the door, with Everly standing between me and escape. Great. Now I'm trapped in Hot Guy Heaven with the God of Hot Guy Heaven stalking toward me like he's more demon than angel. Help.
Why'd I agree to this meet-and-greet again?
Oh, right. That's Everly's fault.
"Jesus Christ, Kingston," someone laughs when the green-eyed giant is right in front of me, staring hard enough to make my whole body flush with heat. "Let her breathe."
"Fuck that," he rumbles. "Who are you?"
"Evie Alexander," my sister answers for me, grinning like this is the best day of her life. "And she's desperately single."
Desperately single?
Oh, she is never going anywhere with me ever again.
"Evie," Kingston murmurs, his lips kicking up into a panty-melting grin. "You're the singer. You any good, baby doll?"
Baby doll?I guess he's one of them then—you know, the athletes who flirt with everything that moves and thinks he's more charming than he is. Most women probably fall for it. He's hot enough to have a legion of adoring fans to pick from.
I'm not most women. If I fell for every charming man who threw himself at me, I'd never get anything done. It's funny how quickly they come out of the woodwork when your father is famous and you make a name for yourself. This world is full of sharks, and far too many of them have two legs and an agenda.
If he's one of them, he can count me out.
There's a reason I'm single. Men are the reason.
"I don't know." I tip my head back, staring up at him. "Are you any good at whateveryoudo out there?"
The man has dimples. Two of them flash at me, turning my insides to mush. Jesus. None of the other men who flirt with me like it's their job makes my stomach flutter like this.
"He doesn't do much!" one of his teammates shouts, razzing him.
A few others laugh in agreement.
Kingston ignores them, completely focused on me. "Depends on the day," he says. "You're single?"
"No," I lie. "I'm married. His name is Rufus. He's a territorial boxer who doesn't like other men." Okay, so maybe I don't havea husband, and Rufus is my dog. But the rest is true. He is a territorial boxer who doesn't like men.
Everly snorts, covering her mouth with her hand.
Kingston's gaze immediately falls to my hand. "Where's your ring?"
"Around my heart."
Those dimples flash again. Dammit. He's beautiful.
"Uh-huh. I just bet it is." He steps even closer, his body heat searing into me. "Well, Evie Alexander, tell Rufus I said hello. And keep that finger free for me. I'll be needing it soon."
Nope. No way. I am not falling for…whatever madness this is. He probably has a concussion. That happens in sports all the time, right?