Free Breathless #5 (The Breathless Romance Series - Book #5) by Claire Adams

shooter went first, and his ability
was immediately impressive. Then I watched as Johnny took up his position on
the ice. “Johnny can do that in his sleep,” Georgia told me.
    “ Shh !” I said, flapping my
hand at her. In fact, everyone was silent — even the other team’s side. It was
a gesture of respect. I pressed my lips together and watched as Johnny made his
way across the ice, gliding smoothly and confidently on his skates. I barely
breathed as he advanced towards the other team’s goalie, switching around the
puck, moving it to confuse the player. I gripped Georgia’s hand harder as he
came to the crease and shot.
    The shot went in — the siren announced it and everyone
roared in reaction.
    We got more worried as the player for the opposing
team made his second shot. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew Johnny was
the man I loved and that he could wipe the floor with that guy, I’d be
impressed. Georgia laughed when I said as much. “No guy is ever going to be
able to stack up to Johnny in your mind,” she said. “You might as well just
marry the guy and get it over with.” I rolled my eyes.
    “That is not what I mean and you know it,” I told her.
After a few moments, all of the raucous sound and cheering from the other team
began to subside, and Johnny took up his position once more. I closed my eyes
and took a deep breath, saying a prayer without being entirely sure of who I
was praying to. I opened my eyes in time to see Johnny take off again. He was
rushing down the ice, even faster than the first time, and I realized that he
was trying to psych the other player out, that he was trying to overwhelm the
goalie — who might then make the wrong judgment when he went to shoot. “I’m
starting to pick this stuff up without even trying,” I told Gigi in a whisper.
She snorted and gave me a poke to the ribs.
    Everyone held their breath as Johnny once more got
into position and shot the puck, but he had not been quite fast enough to
overwhelm the goalie, who barely managed to knock the shot aside. There was a
groan in the audience.
    The third shot by the opposing player went wide and missed,
but the crowd was well aware of the remaining chance to score.
    I looked at Johnny closely, worried — maybe he was not
as recovered as I had thought he was. But I saw him shake it off, saw him look
at his coach, and then up at me, with a little smile. He headed back to center
ice and I knew that he was going to get the next one. I smiled and gripped
Georgia’s hand. Even if I had the intuition — the instinct — that Johnny had
it, that didn’t make it any less tense in the audience. I looked around. Nearly
everyone on our team’s side of the ice was invested in the game, wanting Johnny
to make it. They had forgotten for the moment about whatever stupid rumors they
had heard or whatever delight they had taken in the “golden boy” being pulled
down off the pedestal.
    Johnny went with a different tactic; instead of trying
to overwhelm the goalie, he moved more subtly, shifting and feinting, moving
the puck around on the ice without even seeming to. Even I was mesmerized,
watching him move from the center to the net. By the time Johnny made his shot,
the goalie was utterly confused and transfixed by what he had seen. The crowd
erupted — cheers on our side, groans on the other side.
     
    “I wish they’d get it over with before you crush my
hand,” Georgia said jokingly. I glanced at her; she gestured with her other
hand that she was fine, that it was a joke. I eased up anyway.  
     
    It was nearly over — one way or the other. As the
other player missed, everyone knew Johnny would have to make the last shot
count to win. I sat back down, tapping my foot on the floor, wanting nothing
more than for everyone to just shut up and let Johnny take his last shot and
let us all know what the outcome was going to be. But everyone was more excited
than ever, which I could understand — so was I. I took a