“There she is.”

I spot her the second she steps into the arena.

Not because I’m looking for her.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

The crowd is loud, teammates shoving each other around after another win, reporters waiting for interviews, but my attention lands exactly where it always does.

On her.

She’s wearing her boyfriend’s jersey.

My rival’s jersey.

The sight annoys me more than it should.

She laughs at something one of her friends says, completely unaware that I’m watching from across the rink.

Or maybe she is aware.

Usually she is.

Usually the second our eyes meet, she gives me that look.

The one that says she can’t stand me.

It’s become my favorite part of game nights.

I lean against the boards, rolling a hockey stick between my palms.

“Captain?” one of my teammates calls.

I ignore him.

Because at that exact moment, she finally glances my way.

And there it is.

That glare.

Sharp. Instant. Genuine.

God, I love that look.

Most girls smile when they see me.

Most girls trip over themselves trying to get my attention.

She acts like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

It’s infuriating.

It’s addictive.

And I’m starting to think I have a problem.

A grin tugs at my mouth as I push away from the boards.

Her expression immediately darkens.

She knows exactly where I’m headed.

Good.

I stop directly in front of her.

Close enough to be annoying.

Close enough to watch her jaw tighten.

“Relax,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“You look more nervous than your boyfriend did before the game.”

Her glare sharpens.

My grin widens.

There she is.

Exactly where I want her.

The only problem?

Lately, I’m not sure whether I’m trying to piss her off…

Or get her to look at me the way she looks at him.