Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)
Lucky Hit: Chapter 13

Two hours and a shower later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Oakley’s truck as he pulls into the parking lot of the Saints arena.

Skating and me are like oil and water. I’m a baby deer on the ice, but seeing Oakley’s eyes light up at the prospect of spending the afternoon teaching me how to skate stole the ability for me to say no. Now, here we are.

The truck’s cab is nice and warm compared to the fall chill outside. I wasn’t surprised to look outside for the first time this morning to see rain and gloomy skies, but it was a letdown nonetheless. The weather did nothing to help my hangover.

Oakley let me choose the music again on the drive here, and I’m beginning to think that might be because he’s nervous I won’t like what he normally listens to.

As soon as he puts the truck in park, I twist in my seat to face him. The white hoodie he’s wearing makes his green eyes look sharper than usual. I decide to bite the bullet and satisfy my curiosity. “What kind of music do you like?”

He looks taken aback but laughs it off. “I’m not overly picky. Usually whatever gets my blood pumping. We listen to rock during practice and warm-ups. Why?”

Yeah, I can see him listening to rock. Or anything that would make him want to move around.

“You always let me choose the music,” I state.

“I do.”

“Why?”

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “You get excited when you pick it. Your leg starts bouncing, and you smile.”

I throw my head back against the headrest and groan. Even without looking at him, I know he’s confused.

“Wait . . . is that a bad thing?”

“No. It’s a sweet thing. An incredibly sweet thing,” I sigh.

He chuckles, but it sounds forced. “Then why do you look like I just pissed in your cereal?”

I open one eye and look at him. “Have you pissed in someone’s cereal before?”

This time, his laugh is very real. “Fuck no. I don’t know where that one came from. You frazzle me.”

Hold up . . . “I frazzle you?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that obvious?”

“No.”

“Well, you do.”

I snort. “Yeah, you frazzle me too. It’s like you have a point to prove or something by stomping all over everything I think I know about hockey players.”

“You’re only partially right. I don’t care what you think about anyone else, just what you think about me.”

I watch as Oakley dumps his hockey bag on a bench in the team locker room and pulls out two sets of hockey skates. His and the old pair Mom got me a few years back. He moves around the room with an easy confidence that shows how at ease he feels in this environment.

My eyes widen at the pair of skates I’m sure Bigfoot could fit into. “No wonder you’re a good skater. You have ski-sized feet.”

Oakley bellows a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t trip over them when you walk.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Sit down and put yours on, funny guy.”

I quickly slip them on and attempt to lace them, even though I have no clue in hell what I’m doing. I’ve always bribed someone else into doing this part for me.

“Here, let me help,” he says before stepping in front of me and kneeling on the hard floor. One big hand wraps around my ankle and pulls my skate-covered foot to rest on a thickly muscled thigh.

His fingers quickly and skillfully loop the laces through each hole, and I watch with greedy eyes. My skin heats when he slips his bottom lip between his teeth and chews on it as he concentrates on his task. The scar above his top lip is more obvious to me right now, and I realize it’s not as old as I first thought. Not with how raised and pink it is.

I lose my train of thought when he sets my one foot down and grabs the other, repeating the process. His fingers brush the bare skin of my ankle where my sock has slipped, and the buzz that erupts beneath the surface has me hissing.

“Is that too tight?” he asks, eyes flashing with concern.

I shake my head. “They’re good. Sorry.”

He doesn’t push me on it and finishes the laces. Flashing a toothy grin at me, he sets my foot down beside the other and pats his thighs.

“All done. They feel okay?”

I stand up and wiggle my toes in the skates. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He sits down beside me then and puts his skates on, tying them in what seems like one fluid motion. Before I know it, he’s standing beside me and motioning to the door.

I’m grateful when he places a hand to my back and helps me wobble out of the locker room and down the hallway that leads to the ice. The tip of my left skate catches on the mushy rubber flooring, and I stumble before he wraps an arm around my waist and steadies me.

“Careful,” he says, and I can hear the hint of a laugh in his words.

“Not funny,” I mumble.

He squeezes my side. “Right. Not funny at all.”

When we reach the rink, we stop by the boards, and I take a long look around. I’ve never actually seen it empty before. There are no goalie nets, only markings where they should lie. No referees are skating around blowing whistles, trying to calm the players. Gone are the groups of people sitting in the ugly red seats that make up half the arena, filling it with ear-piercing screams.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” He turns to face me. “Don’t get me wrong. I love playing hockey, but sometimes it’s nice just to skate. There’s no pressure when you’re just skating.”

I look over and see his eyes flash with an emotion I can’t decipher. Sadness, maybe? No, that doesn’t make sense.

“You ready? I promise I’m a fantastic teacher.” He steps onto the ice and holds his hands out for me to take.

Slowly, I make my way toward him and grab his hands. The heat from them beats into my skin as he holds me tight.

Oakley slowly starts to pull me around the ice, laughing every time I start to lose my balance.

“You weren’t lying. You’re a terrible skater,” he teases when I nearly fall on my ass for the second time.

“Not all of us are hockey prodigies.” I roll my eyes.

“I’m not so sure about the term ‘prodigy.’”

“Isn’t that what they call you, though? You’re estimated to be drafted first overall; you don’t have to be modest. Not with me.”

Interest flares in his eyes as he smirks. “Have you been looking me up, Ava?”

My cheeks burn. “I didn’t have to. They were talking about you on TV this morning.”

“What did you learn?”

“Just that you’re a hot commodity. They seemed nervous that you weren’t going to enter the draft this year.”

He tenses briefly. “Yeah, I dragged my feet for a while. My mom has been trying to convince me to enter since I was seventeen and scouts started paying more attention to me.”

I gasp. “Seventeen? That young?”

He shrugs. “There are more young players than you would think getting that kind of recognition. The talent is getting better every year.”

“What kept you from entering earlier?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I wince at the personal question. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

He squeezes my hands. “It’s okay to ask me questions. I trust you.”

A weight lifts off my chest. I don’t know why it feels so reassuring to know he trusts me. Maybe because I think I trust him with my secrets too.

“I wasn’t ready to leave my family yet, and I hadn’t finished high school. I didn’t want the pressure that would have followed me there if I had entered the draft then. There was also a huge part of me that didn’t think I was good enough. This year is my last chance before I’m too old, so I figure it’s better late than never.”

I want to ask more about his family, like why he never seems to mention his father, but I think better of it before I risk ruining our good day.

“Well, you’re definitely good enough now.” The best I’ve seen, but I choose to keep that to myself.

He smiles softly. “Thank you.”

I hold my breath as he slips his fingers between mine and uses our joined hands to turn us in a wide circle. When I don’t trip over myself and fall to my ass, I release my breath.

“You’re getting more comfortable with it,” he notes.

“I have a pretty great teacher. Not everyone can say they’ve had a future NHL star hold their hands and help them glide around a rink. How will I ever recover from this once-in-a-lifetime experience?” Sarcasm is thick in my voice, but my grin is as real as it’s ever been.

He suddenly starts skating faster, faster than anyone should be able to going backward. A slight wind brushes my cold cheeks, and I shiver.

“You’re a little shit.”

“You’re going to kill us both,” I screech when he makes a sharp turn. My grip on his hands is way too tight.

“Live a little, Ava. Let the adrenaline course through you. Soak it up.”

“I like to live on the safe side. No adrenaline for this girl,” I squeak.

“Too late. There’s no way you don’t feel it right now. That erratic thumping in your chest? The flames in your blood? That’s adrenaline, gorgeous.”

“Yeah, that’s not adrenaline doing that to me right now,” I mumble to myself.

Suddenly, Oakley releases one of my hands, and I wobble. My arm falls to my side like a heavy weight before I immediately toss it into the air and pull on the hand still in Oakley’s in an attempt to regain my balance.

“Relax.” Oakley slows down to a smooth glide. “Watch my feet. Go slow, small, fluid movements. Imagine you’re pushing yourself on a scooter.”

I nod along with him and stare at his feet, watching as he takes backward glides. Each one is confident, sure, and steady.

My toes curl when I push off my left foot, attempting to keep up with him instead of continuing to be pulled along. It’s way scarier than I was expecting, but after a while, I start to feel more comfortable on my own.

One foot after the other, I get better. As soon as I start gliding by myself, Oakley goes to release my hand. I surprise myself by refusing to let his go.

When he looks at me questioningly, I only shrug. “I don’t trust myself yet.”

A knowing smile is his reply. In one smooth motion, he moves to my side, skating alongside me.

The quiet of the arena makes each one of our skate strokes more noticeable as we continue doing slow laps around the rink. Usually silence makes me feel awkward, but that’s not the case here. It’s almost calming.

But after a couple of minutes, Oakley’s voice ripples through the quiet.

“I tried to replace you after that night.”

My head snaps up as I stare at him with wide eyes. He continues looking ahead of us. “You did?”

He nods. “The next day. Nobody knew your name, though. It makes sense now, considering you weren’t from Pen, but yeah. I had the entire team looking, but I didn’t even know David’s name at the time. There was no way of tracking you down.”

Flutters erupt in my stomach. I had assumed that our meeting was just a once off. Two people who needed company, even if it came from a complete stranger. Of course, I wondered about him too. But there was no way I was going to track down a guy like Lee. Someone who is so far out of my league, I’m sure I would have been laughed at for asking about him.

“To be fair, we didn’t really give a lot about ourselves to go off of,” I tease lightly.

“We should have. I should have given you my number. I wanted to.”

Would I have taken it?

Yes, I would have.

I swing our linked hands in the air. “We’re here now. And I like spending time with you just as much as I did then.”

I can feel his happiness rolling off him in waves. It sinks into my skin.

“Good, because I want to spend a lot more time with you. You’re pretty great.”

And just like that, Oakley Hutton burrows himself in my chest a little bit deeper.