And in her way was a sheer rock wall. Immovable. Impenetrable.
She didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to dream about what she was never going to have.
It was a stupid dream, anyway. She was never going to be famous, and she was never going to be a singer. She ran her family’s bar. That’s all she was ever going to do.
Ty pulled into the parking space in front of her condo and turned off the engine. She put her hand on his.
“No reason to turn that off. Your car will get cold.”
“In other words, you don’t want me to come in.”
“It’s late. And you have a game tomorrow.”
He arched a brow. “I’m a big boy. I can stay up late. If you want to get rid of me, Jenna, use plain language and tell me you don’t want me to come in.”
She swallowed. “I don’t want you to come in.”
He opened his door and came around to her side to let her out.
“I’ll still take you to the front door.”
She didn’t know what kind of mood she was in, but it wasn’t a good one. She was taking it out on Ty, which she absolutely hated since he hadn’t caused any of this.
She fished her keys out of her bag and turned to him. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
He smiled down at her and took the keys from her hand. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” He opened her door and handed the keys back to her, then pulled her to him and brushed his lips against hers.
A fire burned low in her belly and started a flame as the kiss—meant to be brief—turned into something hotter. Despite the bitter cold outside, she held on to his arms and didn’t want to let go.
Ask him in, idiot.
But something stopped her.
He didn’t deserve her mood. Some other time.
She pulled away and licked her lips. “Thanks for tonight.”
His dark gaze made the barely banked flame inside her roar to life.
“You’re welcome. Night, Jenna.”
She hovered at the doorway as he walked to his car, and everything in her wanted to call out to him and ask him to come back.
But she stopped herself, and when he climbed back in his car, she went inside, shut the door, and leaned against it.
Yeah, another thing she wanted and wouldn’t allow herself to have.
FIFTEEN
TY ATTACKED THE PUCK WITH A VENGEANCE, SHOVING the defender with his shoulder as he advanced down the ice.
This was a tough game against Vancouver, and he was sweating inside his gear. The team was kicking their ass and they were down by two goals, but the one thing he never did was give up. Neither did his teammates. It was the beginning of the third period, which meant there was a lot of time to go. All they had to do was stay focused, tie the game, then go for the win.
One goal at a time.
He moved the puck in the center, swept it around the defender, and passed it to Victor. Ty pushed hard, skating toward the net, hustling back and forth with his opponent as Eddie fought the defender to get into position.
Come on, man. Work with Victor and Jerry.
The defender slid the puck behind the goal and it screamed around like a pinball and headed toward Vancouver’s side of the ice.
Dammit. Huffing and puffing, he reversed, on the defensive now, using his stick to stop their center from the attack.
But it was two on one and they skirted around him. Jerry and Steve were there, the goalie in position.
They took a shot. Missed. The defenders pushed the puck back out on the ice and Jerry brought it to him, sliding it in his direction.
Ty took it, this time Victor joining him as they volleyed it back and forth, keeping the opponents scrambling. Victor passed it to Eddie, and Ty got in position with Victor near the goal.
He was slammed into but held the puck within his stick, refusing to give up the prize, battling to hold on to it as he skated toward the goal. He shot it to Victor, who plunged it toward the net. The goalie shoved it out, but Eddie was right there and slammed it back in.
One goal down. Yes!
Now they had to hold them.
Ty and his group took the bench while the next went in. It was hard to sit the bench when he always wanted to be out there playing.
They were getting more shots on goal than Vancouver. They should be kicking their asses, but they’d been sluggish in the first period and Vancouver had pounced on them. Stupid. Now they were paying for it. They needed two more goals in or they were going to lose a game they needed to win. He looked at the clock—eight minutes left.
“Czenzcho is sluggish tonight,” he said to Eddie and Victor as they waited in the box for their turn. Tyler had read about Vancouver’s star defender recovering from a bout of the flu. He’d noticed it was slowing him down. “If we lean on him, double team him, we can get a shot past him and score these two goals.”
Eddie nodded.
“We will do that,” Victor said as if the goals they needed were already a foregone conclusion.