Seven months ago. April.

"Tell your mom I said hey," Jones cackled next to me, tapping his stick on the ice while we waited for the whistle. Whenever we played against the Canucks, Jones liked to run his mouth but his chat was pathetic.

"You still on the mom jokes, Jones?" I gave him a shove. "You gonna shit talk, I suggest something a little more plausible. You ever met Mrs Maverick? She prefers her men to have bigger balls than she does."

He scoffed and tapped my stick with his.

The whistle went and the play started. Matthew's snapped to Leighton and he moved across the ice, getting intercepted by Canuck number thirty eight, Perez.

I moved into position keeping myself open just as Leighton took a hit and slid onto his knees. The puck hit my stick and I snapped it back to Frey who circled Perez. Frey's footwork was so damn sensational and I'd have cheered for his goal if I wasn't checked into the wall with a shoulder barge.

"For fuck sakes," I stood straight back up and saw Jones cackling, his wiry blonde hair stuck to his face, circling the ugliest fucking grin.

"Didn't see you there, Maverick."

I didn't bother picking my stick up, instead I threw my hands down, my gloves flew off and I swung as soon as Jones glided back toward me, his gloves sliding across the ice behind him.

I'd given him the hiding of his life two years ago at a preseason game and it was still one of the most watched highlights on YouTube. He'd been hoping to redeem himself ever since.

Not a fucking chance.

I shoved him at the glass, clutched his shirt and hit, over and over, keeping hold despite him pushing at my hands and throwing the odd punch at my helmet. I aimed up, getting him in the chin. His helmet came off and hit the ice.

I was vaguely aware of the refs circling, waiting for their cue. Jones kicked out and we went down which was when the refs tugged at my jersey, pulling me off. I got one last blow to his jaw and laughed.

"Still a bitch, Jones."

He wiped his bloody nose and scowled, his blonde beard streaked with red as I skated off to the box for a five minute penalty. He'd be in his for two.

Watching Matthew's and Lowry slide side by side, fighting over the puck with Matthew's just holding the upper hand, my gaze drifted to a particularly deafening scream coming from the stands beside me.

Screaming is normal, expected. You learn to tune it out and it becomes white noise. But it was a woman with this gravelly pitch and enthusiasm that triumphed everyone around her. When I found the girl responsible, I couldn't look away.

Again, beautiful women cheering their hearts out isn't unusual. It's common as hell. So I couldn't seem to explain the feeling I got when I looked at her and I couldn't stop looking.

I could not. Stop. Looking.

Because she was fucking beautiful but it was more than that. It was her expression and her excitement and the energy radiating from her as she bounced up and down and smacked her hands on the glass.

And she was wearing fucking blue.

A damn Canucks girl.

My focus went back to the game.

But then it went back to her and fuck me, her smile was stunning. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her shoulder length brown waves damp, strands sticking to her face.

"Maverick," coach boomed, snapping me out of staring at the woman in the blue jersey, two thick painted stripes on either cheek. "Get back out there."

Stick in hand, I stepped out onto the ice and went straight for the puck sliding past me. A well timed snap from Leighton. For the next ten minutes, I played, doing my best to ignore the beautiful woman, screaming at the top of her lungs.

From this side of the glass, I couldn't hear her, but from the five minutes I spent listening to it, I would never forget how it sounded.

I wondered if that was the reason she had a raspy voice, or if she always sounded like that.

What I'd give to hear her cheering for me. To hear my name on that throaty rasp. Just once.

For curiosity sake.

Instead she was screaming for the damn Canucks, and not a single one of them gave a damn. To be fair, in most circumstances I wouldn't hold that against them but right now, I felt like she deserved to be fucking appreciated.

Why did I feel like that? Fuck, too many punches in the head maybe.

I needed to ignore her.

I wanted to know what she'd look like in red.

Get it together, man.

The buzzer went for the end of second period and we dispersed, as did the crowd. Off to get snacks or take a piss. My attention drifted to the Canucks girl and I watched her twisting the blue jersey between her fingers while she talked to the girl next to her.

In the locker room, the boys gathered for a pep talk from coach, he gave us a bit of banter, gassed us up and then told us he'd punch us all in the head if we didn't bring it home. This was the game that decided who'd end up in the Stanley cup and he wasn't about to let the Canucks go up against Tampa bay.

After we'd taken a break, hydrated and shit talked for a while, I changed into my spare jersey, holding the other one as we walked out of the locker room and headed for the tunnels.

"What are you doing?" Leighton asked me, raising his scarred brow at the jersey in my hand. My best friend had taken a puck to the brow in college and the gash had become his favourite battle scar. It suited him.

I tapped his helmet with my stick.

"Mind your business, Lei," I said, breaking off and heading to an usher picking up empty water bottles and trash from our box.

"Kid," I leaned in close and shouted over the noise erupting at the players heading back onto the ice. The teenager peered up at me, startled. "See that girl there?"

I pointed straight at her. She was back on her feet, that big grin pushing her cheeks up into the outer corner of her eyes. I have damn well never seen someone smile that hard and still look so fucking beautiful.

"The one in the Canucks jersey. Shoulder length brown hair. Striped cheeks. Big smile," I explained.

"Yes sir," the kid said, his voice in that awkward transition of high and soft to, low and squeaky.

"Take this to her. Tell her it's from Phoenix Maverick," I said, handing the jersey to him. He looked at me as he slowly took it from my hand. "Don't tell anyone. I mean, people will see, and hear. But don't outright tell anyone that's what I asked. If this ends up in a tabloid, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Yes sir."

I skated onto the ice, watching him weave through the few people at the start of her row.

"Maverick, what's the plan?" Frey asked, slowly moving to right wing.

"You and Leighton need to watch fourteen and nine. I want Matthew's on twenty two at—"

"Na," Frey cut me off. "What's the plan with the jersey?" He gestured his head over to where the usher was approaching the beautiful girl and I watched her face turn into utter confusion as her hand reached for his offering.

Just as I was getting into position, she looked over at me, her friend following suit. They both stared but all I could see was her, the pinch in her brow as she took the jersey. The drop of her jaw when I gave her a quick nod before I turned around and got back into the game.

I did what I set out to do, now, it was time to focus.

For the rest of third period, I was one hundred percent in the game. I didn't look for the beautiful woman in the stands, as much as I was dying to see if she'd put on the jersey, it would be a distraction we couldn't afford.

Moving the puck up the rink, I slid through Jones and Daniels, just keeping the puck in possession as I snapped a shot across to Leighton.

He was under pressure as he went for the goal, swarmed on either side. When I thought he was going to lose his opening, he shoved number nine in the chest and snapped the puck, which went through through number nine's open, flailing legs before he hit the ice, scoring the winning goal. A power play.

That was an impressive shot and the crowd knew it. The noise made it impossible to hear the encouragement we shared when the team started throwing themselves at each other, celebrating the fact that we were going to the Stanley cup for the first time in forever. We hugged and laughed for a while and then we all split off to circle the ice and throw pucks over the glass to the kids.

Well most of us did. I finally allowed myself to look for her again and when my gaze fell on where she'd been seated, disappointment coursed through me to see she wasn't wearing the jersey. She had it, but she wasn't wearing it as she stood up from her seat and shuffled toward the exit.

For a minute, I thought I'd made absolutely no damn impact on her. But she looked over her shoulder. She looked straight at me, her lip lifted into a soft smile and that was all I needed to go after her. If nothing else, I wanted to know her name.

I'd plead insanity if someone asked me what I was doing.

This woman could be an absolute bitch. Someone I had zero common interests with.

Regardless of that, I was entirely enamoured and I needed to sate this desire to have a conversation with her. It'd keep me up at night if I didn't.

I sounded like a fucking stalker.

"Kid," I found the same usher who'd helped me out earlier, he was cleaning the box. Ripping my helmet off and spitting my mouth guard out, I pointed over to the stands. "Can you go and ask her to come over to the tunnel?"

He put a handful of splintered hockey stick, courtesy of Matthew's, into the trash and jumped out of the box. I watched him pause for a minute, looking for her and then I headed over to the tunnel and leaned against the wall.

Minutes went by, I stood, arms folded, head low avoiding the curious glares from teammates as they headed into the locker room. A few of them asked me what I was doing but I had no idea how to answer that because what the fuck was I doing?

"Hi?"

I looked up at the sound of the hoarse voice and saw the woman approaching, both of her hands holding the jersey in front of her.

There was another woman with her, short as well but leaner than the one currently watching me like I was a rabid animal, her approach cautious.

"Hey," I said, moving off the wall to stand in front of her. "Phoenix Maverick."

"I know," she gave a slow nod and all I could do was stare at the dotted freckles on her pierced nose and cheeks. Her skin was flushed a dark pink and strands of light brown hair clung to her neck.

"We're both newly single," the other woman blurted out and when I finally looked at her properly, I had to assume they were sisters.

Both beautiful, but my girl was mesmerising in a way that made me feel like I was made to find her because how could no one be stopping in their tracks just to look at her and admire her. It was the sort of attention she deserved.

Her allure was consuming.

"Single doesn't mean available," my girl said and shoved the jersey at my chest. "Especially not for a flame."

"Not afraid of a little heat are you?"

She screwed up her dainty nose. "That was lame."

"Tough crowd."

"She does think you're hot," the sister said and my girl looked at her with a dropped jaw.

My hope piqued. "You do?"

"Not the point," my girl waved the jersey at me again. "Take this. I don't want it."

"You should've worn it. I wanted to see if I was right."

"About what?!"

"You suiting red." 

"She does look good in red," the sister piped up again.

"This stinks," my girl ignored her sister and stepped closer with the jersey, that earlier light and excitement was replaced with frustration and I kind of liked that too. "It reeks. It smells so bad, you couldn't pay me to put it on."

"Yeah," I looked at her perfect pouted mouth. "I can work up a sweat."

I'm sure she didn't want to react but the flare of her gaze made my pulse quicken.

"I would love to know your name," I said.

"It's Kinsley," the sister volunteered when it was clear that Kinsley wasn't going to answer. "I'm Sadie."

I gave Sadie a nod of appreciation.

"Kinsley," I savoured the name on my tongue and watched her gaze drop to my mouth. "Kinsley, I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I would love to go out sometime."

She recoiled, her shock evident.

"You didn't think that was all for nothing right?" I asked, pointing at the jersey in her balled fist. Her knuckles were turning white. Damn, if she was really uncomfortable, I'd feel like a dick.

"We're Canucks," she said. "Through and through and there is no chance I would ever date a flame supporter, let alone an actual flame. We wear blue."

"We don't have to wear anything if that helps."

She pursed her lips, to my relief it looked like she was fighting a laugh.

"Dinner? We can keep it private so no one knows you're a traitor."

Her glare narrowed. "Why?"

"I want to get to know you."

"Why?"

"Because so far, I like what I see. I'm intrigued and the only way to find out more is to go out and talk and—"

"Talk?" She scoffed. "You just insinuated we should get naked together."

It was at that moment Leighton walked past, helmet swinging from his hand. He raised that scarred brow at me and I made a point to ignore him.

"Oh I mean, I figure that comes eventually right? Or not. I guess that depends how we feel about each other once we get to know each other."

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "No."

"Alright," I ran a hand through my hair and swallowed the rejection. "You take care, Kinsley."

I'd barely made it three steps in my skates when Sadie shouted out after me.

"That's it?" She waved her hand at Kinsley when I turned around. "Take care? You're not going to work for it?"

Kinsley scowled at her sister.

"I'm not going to be that asshole that doesn't take no for an answer," I said. "No stress."

I went to leave and was once again stopped but this time the voice was rasp and sent a chill right up my spine.

"Coffee," Kinsley said. "Not dinner. You can pick it up and meet me at Sadie's. No offence but I don't want to publicly go on a date with someone who has a lot of. . . attention."

"I can do that."

She seemed surprised but slipped her phone out of her back pocket and swiped it unlocked.

"Put your number in," she handed it over and my fingers brushed hers. The jersey was still hanging in her other hand and I gave it a lingering look before focusing on the phone.

I still wanted to see her wearing it.

One day.

"I look forward to it," I said, handing her phone back. "Good to meet you both."

We said goodbye and when I turned around, I could feel the damn smile on my face. Kinsley, the beautiful Canucks fan who was so fucking beautiful and captivating for a reason I couldn't pinpoint, agreed to go out with me and I was thrilled.