He chuckled again when I tripped slightly in my high heels. I swore it was a hill in the floor, but it was merely a rock. Nudging me inside with our joined hands, the waiter showed us to our table in the back that Evan had apparently reserved.
"You definitely have some clout in this city, don't you?"
Evan smiled sheepishly and gave a tip of his head as if to say yes, but it wasn't something he was necessarily comfortable with.
After dinner we sat in a comfortable silence when I said, "I wanna know more about your world and what it's like."
Evan smiled, his eyes watching me, and then reached for my hand. "I'll show you."
Before I knew it, we were at the United Center and he was taking me inside. I'd seen a little of the United Center before, but I'd never walked in the way a Chicago Blackhawks player did. Through a few different doors, down a long hallway and to the left, was the entrance only players, the media, and coaches saw. Above the door was a sign that read: One Goal. Walking through the double doors, I tried to imagine what Evan must feel each time before a game.
I couldn't because I wasn't a player.
But as a fan the feeling was unbelievable to see what those boys did on the ice, and this was where they prepared for that.
Sneaking a glance up at Evan, he smiled, his eyes shining and his hand on the door. "Wanna go inside."
Of course I did. Through a series of locked doors he apparently had stolen keys for, we were inside the United Center in a place only the players and coaches saw.
Inside the locker room were benches with cubbies and the names of the players plastered above them.
On the floor was the Blackhawk Indian that Evan informed me you could not step on. Something about superstition, and I wasn't about to mess with it.
It was quiet, not what I was expecting, but it also wasn't swarming with players.
Behind a set of double doors, there was the players' lounge where only players were allowed, though Evan let me walk inside. Plush leather couches were situated around the television that hung on the wall. The individual players' stalls wrapped around that.
"So this is where you guys all walk around naked?" I felt my cheeks flush, thinking of Evan naked, before the words were even out.
Evan laughed, throwing his head back. "Yeah, we get naked in here. Remy gets naked everywhere, though."
I knew that already.
Sticks and gear were lined up in the stalls, ready for the players tomorrow night. I saw Evan's name above his stall and reached forward to touch his stick, stroking it just to mess with him. He groaned and then I took it in my hand, bringing my hand down, trying to hold it like a hockey player. Evan laughed again at my stance and the way I had the stick held out in front of me in my striking position. "Am I doing this right?"
He moved forward, his chest pressed into my back, his voice at my ear. "Yeah, but you gotta stop that."
Score.
Evan must have sensed that things were heating up, they always did between us, and he moved back about a foot.
"What's it like to walk onto the ice from here?"
His smile said a lot. He was waiting for me to ask that. I could tell that was what he really wanted to show me since this was the place his heart was.
Securing a pair of skates he found, which were four sizes too big for me, even with ten pairs of socks, I watched closely as he put a pair of pads over my shoulders. His hands were impossibly gentle given how aggressive he could be, tugging occasionally to tighten either the laces on the skates or the pads he insisted I wear.
Before long I was all decked out in gear, pads, and a helmet. He was also wearing his hockey gear. "Are you planning on knocking me around a bit?" I asked, laughing as he tightened the chin strap of my helmet.
"Safety first," he whispered, throwing a teasing look my direction, kissing my cheek. "Have you ever been on the ice?"
"No," I lied. It was an honest white lie and something I could use to my advantage tonight. What little advantage one could have on a guy like Evan Masen.
When we approached the long hallway to the ice, I wondered if he got a rush out of this or if he felt overwhelmed by it at times. What did he think when he made his way onto the ice?
Before we stepped onto the rink, Evan removed the skate guards and then helped me through the boards.
I skated forward slowly, but my legs were so weak and tense that I constantly felt like I was going to fall. I caught the ice a few times, pitching myself forward, but Evan was right there, his hands wrapped around my waist. "I've got you," he reassured me, still holding me close. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, nodded watching my feet.
Unwinding his arms and moving in front of me, he reached out and held my hands as he skated backward.
"There's something incredibly sexy about a man who can skate backward."
Evan raised his brow, watching me carefully. His fingers brushed over my cheek. "Yeah?"
"Oh yeah."