The Pucker-Up Pact by J.P. Sterling EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: J.P. Sterling
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.9 MB
- Price: Free
Axl Erikson
Thirty seconds.
That’s all the ticks the giant overhead digital clock has left, and the crowd
chants down each digit, growing louder as the numbers decrease. I skate
down the rink with precision speed, smoking past their lumbering
defensemen, and I wait for our winger, Noah, to bring the puck over the
blue line.
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My heart pounds to the rhythm of the countdown, slamming against my
rib cage with each second lost. I’ve been waiting for this shot all game.
I’m two goals in.
One more and it’s not only my first hat trick of the season but, more
crucially, it’s the tying goal, sending us into overtime.
Their goalie glances at me, his charcoal eyes pinning on me with the kind
of glare that leaves the taste of blood on my lips. I take an easy breath and
swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, hydrating it. I’m not afraid of
anything. I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.
“You got this, Axl,” I whisper under my breath as I take off with force,
rerouting myself to the back of the net to get open.
“Twenty-five!” the crowd screams, and I have eyes on the puck smoothly
bouncing back and forth off Noah’s stick. Even though I’m open, Noah is
encapsulated with the other team, causing him to slow his speed as he fights
to protect the puck. Noah’s a ninja on skates but he’s short, which makes
him an easy target.
If he could get me the puck, it’s an easy shot to the goal from here.
I didn’t get this far in my career because it is easy.
Who am I kidding?
It’s never easy.
I need to get closer to Noah.
“Twenty-two,” the crowd hollers, pumping my chest full of the
adrenaline I need to swoop back around the net at full speed. And because
nothing ever goes according to plan, I slip, swiftly catching my fall with my
free arm. I manage to right myself as I skid until my skate blade scrapes off
a layer of ice, spraying the player next to me.
I’m quickly blocked from
moving any closer to Noah, and the crowd becomes unhinged. “Fifteen!”
Panic seeds in my chest as I scan the rink. Noah rounds the corner of the
rink, miraculously keeping the puck, the other team’s defense at his heels.
His skating skills could easily land him some circus on ice if this hockey
thing doesn’t work out. He zigs and he zags, like he’s on the basketball
court, all while maintaining the puck.
“Twelve,” the countdown chant rumbles in the arena, and my heart
rockets into overtime speed. I can get open, but Noah is covered well.
My gaze snags on their number thirteen. He’s skating backwards,
positioned in front of Noah. He’s enormous, the size of a Mini Cooper.
There’s no way around him. I’m not superstitious, but I’ve always had a
thing against the number thirteen.
Now I also have a thing against Mini Coopers.
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