She’d look damn fine wearing my jersey—and nothing else.
Just the thought of it has desire swirling in my gut.
The puck drops, and my attention snaps back to the ice.
The second line plays well, but the Rangers’ defense has clocked in. They look determined to prevent another quick goal, and our boys are breathing hard when they return to the bench.
The game goes on like this for a while, neither team able to score. We’re creating opportunities and shooting, but their goalie is a brick wall.
As the first period winds down, the Rangers get called for icing, and Coach initiates a line change. I return to the bench, frustrated, as the second line takes over.
McGinnis wins the face-off, and Fedorov picks up the puck.
Come on, guys. We need another one before the period ends.
I’d feel a hell of a lot better heading to the locker room with a two-point lead.
Nervous energy coils in my gut, and I lean forward, resting my hands on the wall.
Fedorov passes across to Kristiansen, who draws the defender out of position, and flicks a saucer to the middle. It’s a thing of beauty. The puck spins and lands flat on the ice, right where McGinnis is waiting.
Come on, Ginny. You’ve got this.
He rips a clapper and buries it in the net.
Holy shit. We’re up 2-0. The crowd goes wild, but when I look back to McGinnis, he’s face down on the ice.
I’m on my feet in an instant, looking for the call. It was a late fucking hit, but the ref lets it slide.
Cheers quickly turn to boos as Fedorov helps McGinnis climb to his feet.
I’m fuming as McGinnis returns to the bench and drops down next to me.
“Nice shot, Ginny.”
He pushes his mouth guard out and laughs. “The one in the goal or the one on me?
“Very funny.” I give him a brotherly shove. “Watch your back out there tonight.”
Clearly no one else is going to.
That hit was total bullshit. I’m surprised Kristiansen didn’t retaliate. I’ve never played with the guy before this season, but I’ve played against him and everyone knows he’s not the type to let a dirty play go unpunished.
That’s when he was playing for the Rangers.
Fuck. This had better not be a sign of things to come.
Our third line loses the face-off, and before I know it, it’s time for another shift on the ice.
We hold the Rangers for the entire first period, but the game is chippy. There are a lot of elbows and questionable hits, many of them targeting McGinnis.
In the second quarter, momentum shifts.
Graves gets a bullshit penalty and gets sent to the box. The Rangers score on the power play and Coach slams his clipboard against the wall.
“We’re better than this,” he roars. “You guys have got to win those corner battles cleanly if you want to create scoring opportunities.”
He’s frustrated, rightly so, and most likely imagining another game slipping through our fingers.