Offside Hearts

Offside Hearts Nikki Lawson Copyright © 2023 by Nikki Lawson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For More Information: nikkilawsonauthor.com * * * For updates on new releases, giveaways, and other fun stuff, sign up for my newsletter! Contents 1. Noah 2. Margo 3. Margo 4. Margo 5. Margo 6. Noah 7. Margo 8. Noah 9. Noah 10. Margo 11. Margo 12. Margo 13. Margo 14. Noah 15. Margo 16. Margo 17. Margo 18. Noah 19. Margo 20. Margo 21. Noah 22. Margo 23. Noah 24. Margo 25. Margo 26. Noah 27. Margo 28. Margo 29. Noah 30. Margo 31. Noah 32. Margo 33. Noah 34. Noah 35. Margo 36. Margo 37. Noah 38. Margo 39. Noah 40. Margo 41. Noah 42. Margo 43. Noah 44. Margo 45. Noah 46. Margo 47. Noah 48. Margo 49. Margo 50. Noah 51. Margo 52. Noah Epilogue Epilogue Two For all the readers whose ideal book boyfriend is a cinnamon roll hockey player… with a filthy fucking mouth. Chapter 1 Noah Good hockey is like good sex. Both require stamina, skill, and a willingness to take a few risks. Not to mention, if you’re doing it right, you should end up sweaty as hell. I’m in the zone tonight, filled with the same rush I always get from playing at the top of my game. The noise of the crowd is a distant roar in my ears as my entire world narrows down to what’s happening on the ice. Focused and completely aware of the location of each of my teammates, I whip around the opposing team’s defensemen and push the puck toward their goal with lightning speed. I pass the puck to Reese, our left-winger, who’s there for the catch. He plays around with the puck for a bit, shifting his stick back and forth in moves so fast he’s practically a blur. Digging my toe into my right skate, I launch myself forward and find an opening. There are only fifteen seconds left on the clock, and the tension in the arena is palpable. It’s almost as if I can feel the pounding hearts of everyone in the crowd, like if I really focused I could hear everyone’s breath catch in their chest collectively. Reese sends the puck flying my way, and I don’t hesitate. With my stick up in the air, I pivot on my skates and hit the puck as hard as I can. It goes sailing right through the five-hole, narrowly missing the goalie’s outstretched hands as he tries to save it from going through his legs. It slams into the back of the net, and everyone is on their feet. I have one single moment to savor the look on the goalie’s face as he realizes he just let me score the winning point… and then someone claps me hard on the back while another one of my teammates crashes into me from the side. I go down, and soon I’m at the bottom of a dog pile. The horn indicates that the game is over by blaring throughout the arena. The crowd is losing their minds. The game was tied for almost the entire final period, so we would’ve gone to overtime if I hadn’t made that goal. Overtime is fine, but I personally always like a clean win. “That was beautiful!” Reese, the player directly on top of me, yells in my ear. “That shot—” He smacks his lips together like a kiss. “It was perfect!” “Couldn’t have done without you,” I say as I shrug him off and get back to my feet. “Well, actually, I probably could’ve, but that perfect pass made it a little easier.” He rolls his eyes and reaches out to give me a slap on my helmet. I push him back on his skates and then turn around to celebrate with a few more of my teammates. Everyone is grinning ear to ear, and the excitement grows as we head into the locker room and start to relive the best moments of the game. Theo and Sawyer argue good-naturedly over whose shot was better while I walk over to Grant Parker, our goalie, and stick out my hand for a shake. He looks down at it, then back up at me with a confused frown. “What’s that for?” “You did great, man. You were a wall between the pipes tonight.” “They still managed to slip two past me,” he says, rubbing at the dark, scruffy beard on his jaw. “Hey, don’t sweat it. They were tough shots. You made a ton of clutch saves and kept us in the game. Their forwards were relentless, but you shut them down over and over.” “Whatever.” He blows out a breath, his dark blue eyes a little pinched at the corners. “I can do better. I’ve gotta work on my positioning and rebound control. Nice goal at the end though.” He doesn’t shake my hand and instead walks over to his locker and begins to unceremoniously rip off his pads and change. I laugh under my breath, shaking my head to myself. Grant is a 6’7” dark-haired behemoth of a man, taller than anyone else on the team, and grumpier than anyone else too. He really needs to loosen up, and maybe since I’m captain, I should be the one to tell him so—but not tonight. Tonight, I’m not going to let anything get me down. The Denver Aces just won our fourth game of the season, and I want to celebrate our victory and go out