Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance by Jami Davenport (classic novels to read .txt) 📕

but he’d been so busy all weekend we’d hardly had a chance to talk, with him being on the road and me being under my dad’s thumb.

Moo U won both games that weekend. Patrick scored a hat trick during Saturday’s game. Paxton didn’t score either game, but he had an assist. He was slightly off. Not skating as sharply as he had been for the past month. He shot several times in the first two periods. By the end of the second period of the first game, he appeared totally demoralized and slipping back into his old role by feeding Patrick the puck. The team needed his scoring during the second game, and it wasn’t there. Paxton wasn’t shooting at all.

I was relieved to hear his father wasn’t at the games. We’d both speculated how long he’d be able to afford attending. According to Pax, he’d let his sons know he wouldn’t be at any more games until after the new year, claiming he’d been laid off from his job.

My father had taken on a commentator position for his old team while the full-time guy was out with a medical issue. He wouldn’t be interfering in my life as much either. I looked forward to being out from under his constant scrutiny.

Coach offered to keep me on as a statistician after the semester ended and my internship was done. A week ago, I’d have jumped at the chance. But something wasn’t quite right between Paxton and me. He’d been different on the phone over the weekend, as if he were pulling away. Maybe we’d moved too fast, and he was getting cold feet. I didn’t know. I asked Coach to give me a few weeks to decide, and he was fine with that.

I met Pax at the Biscuit on Sunday night for wings and beer. I arrived early for once and waited for him at the hockey table. I had missed him so much, and he’d consumed the majority of my thoughts for the past several days. In my pocket was a gift for him, certain to bring a smile to his face, while we had a good laugh between us.

Patrick came in the door first with a huge grin on his face like a triumphant warrior. He paused to flirt with a tableful of female fans giggling and fawning over him. Hockey players were Moo U’s biggest celebrities, and a lot of the guys basked in the glow of such adulation.

Paxton entered a few minutes later. I took him in. With his dark hair he never cared much about but still looked sexy as hell whether long or short, the Moo U sweatshirt that clung to his broad shoulders, and his drool-worthy hockey ass clad in faded jeans, he was everything I would ask for and more. And he was all mine. He rocked my body and held my heart in the palm of his large, calloused hands. I was falling for him in a way both scary and unique.

He spotted me, and a grin played at the corners of his mouth.

Unable to control my enthusiasm, I lost all composure. Four days was a long time to be apart. I shrieked his name and rushed toward him. Launching myself into his arms, I clung to him like he was a life preserver from the Titanic. He hugged me back, holding on so tight it was almost as if he feared this hug might be our last one. Finally, we separated. He grinned down at me.

“I’m starved.” He took my hand and led me away from the hockey table to a private table nearby.

“I missed you so much,” I gushed, throwing my feelings out there and hoping he didn’t stomp on them in return.

“I missed you, too.” He looked away from me, not meeting my gaze. A red flag flew up the flagpole, and I sobered. Something was wrong. I hadn’t imagined the subtle differences in him.

“How are you doing?” I tamped down my enthusiasm out of sheer self-preservation.

“Okay.” He was anything but okay. His blue eyes were troubled, and his shoulders slumped.

“You don’t seem okay.” It wasn’t us, it was his play over the weekend. That’s all. Paxton was his own worst critic. I breathed a little easier having convinced myself his withdrawal had nothing to do with me.

“Did you watch the games?”

“Yeah, I did. You were having a tough couple nights.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“I wasn’t feeling it. Coach told me not to get down on myself. He says I’m bound to resort to old habits when things aren’t going my way and to have faith.” He looked up at me. None of the usual sparkle was in his gaze. “What if it’s not a fluke? What if my dad was right? What if I was playing above my abilities, and my improvement was only temporary?”

“Your dad told you that?” Anger at Paxton’s father boiled inside me.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, tearing me down was part of our Thanksgiving Day dinner.”

If Mr. Graham had been in front of me, I’d have thrown a pitcher of beer on his head or, even better, a plate of spaghetti. “He’s wrong. You’re an exceptional player. So you had a setback. So what? You can do this.”

“Coach wants me to step it up and spend every spare moment I have working on the physical and mental aspects of my game. He thinks I’ve backed off lately, which is why I’m backsliding.”

“Maybe he’s right.” I suppressed a twinge of guilt I might have some blame in why Pax’s play had deteriorated. He’d been spending more and more time with me, compared to working on his game. I hadn’t discouraged him either. I’d selfishly taken whatever time he gave me, not thinking about his future.

“You always have believed in me.” His expression softened. I wanted to hold him and erase the lines of stress off his handsome face.

“I’ll always be your biggest fan,” I promised, maybe overdoing my enthusiasm a bit.

He looked