Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,15

chosen the four-year degree to prove something to his siblings. Instead, he pointed to his left and deflected. “Andy seems to be having a good time.”

Currently, he was licking ice off his mittens through his helmet.

Dakota grimaced. “Buddy, are you hungry? There’s a food table over there.”

Andy followed Dakota’s gesturing hand to the snack table allllll the way on the other side of the rink. “I want chicken fingers an’ fries.”

“There’s a surprise,” Dakota muttered.

“Can we go home now, Daddy?”

But you just got here! Tay bit his lip to swallow the words. Guess four-year-olds didn’t have long attention spans.

“You don’t want to play with the other kids?”

“Looks like Grey and Stanton are about to start a game of Smarties hockey,” Tay said. At center ice, his teammates had gathered a bunch of the littler kids, Andy’s age and up to five or six, decked out in borrowed helmets and pads and wielding small hockey sticks.

The word “Smarties” piqued Andy’s interest. “What’s that?”

“Do you see Mitch Greyson and Rory Stanton over there? The curly-haired guy and the one in thick glasses?”

Andy turned to scowl at him. “I know who they are.”

“Sorry.” Grinning, Tay held up one hand in apology. Of course Andy knew who Grey and Stanton were. If he could say Chernyshevsky without stumbling, he could probably recite the entire team’s roster. “See how they’re taking boxes of Smarties out of bags? They’re going to use them as pucks and toss them around the ice. Then the kids pass them to their friends and at the end of the game, they pick them up.” To Dakota, he added, “It’s non-competitive and teaches kids to bend over and stand up again while on skates.”

It was chaos at center ice as seven kids chased Halloween-sized Smarties boxes. Everyone else was mingling on the other end of the rink to give them space and taking advantage of the snacks.

Andy flipped onto his stomach, batting his legs back and forth. “Do I get to eat the Smarties after?”

“Of course.”

Reaching out with his stick, Andy managed to nab a box that had somehow made its way in their direction.

“Well,” Tay said to Dakota. “He’s certainly resourceful.”

“You’d be amazed at how kids get exactly what they want with very minimal effort.”

“And how about you?” Tay asked, lowering his voice and leaning into Dakota’s space. Their shoulders brushed; Tay repressed a shiver. “How much effort do you put in when you want something?”

“Depends.” Gaze dropping to Tay’s mouth, Dakota smirked, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“On?”

“How badly I want it.”

Tay sucked in a breath and leaned his weight onto Dakota’s shoulder. Willing to flirt with him at family skate, check.

It was a horrible idea. Not only was it inappropriate, but a reporter and a couple of bloggers, as well as the team’s photographer, were circling for perfect photo ops and quotes for their articles. Tay hadn’t seen them, although he’d been so focused on Dakota and Andy that his teammates could break into the chicken dance and he probably wouldn’t notice.

Dakota’s thoughts must’ve been on the same wavelength. With a final knowing smirk for Tay that spoke of things better left in the bedroom, he stepped away, though his gaze lingered on Tay’s for another moment.

“Andy, do you still want to head out?”

The kid had ripped into the Smarties box, separated the candy by color right there on the ice, and was popping them in his mouth one by one without chewing or swallowing.

Andy mumbled something in response to Dakota’s question, unintelligible with his full mouth and cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.

“Can you get up then?” Dakota said. “And say goodbye to Tay?”

Or maybe not so unintelligible.

Once he was finished chewing, Andy flipped himself over to lie on his back. “Daddy, can Tay come over for chicken fingers an’ fries?”

Tay’s heart leaped.

“Sure.” Dakota passed his stick to Tay. “We’d love to have you.”

And crashed into his stomach. “I’d love to. Really. But I’m committed to this event until it’s over.”

“Makes sense.” Understanding and disappointment crossed Dakota’s features.

Clenching both sticks in one hand, Tay said, “Another time?”

He was rewarded with a smile. “Definitely.”

“Sorry, Andy,” Tay said, crouching to the kid’s level. “Next time, okay? Do you want to leave me your jersey? I’ll have Cherny sign it tomorrow and get it back to your dad this week.”

“Okay.”

Tay helped him out of his helmet, then tugged the jersey off, leaving him in a long-sleeved sweater. Grasping him under the armpits, Tay placed him on his feet. Standing, Tay