Rinkmates: A steamy Hockey Romance (The Mates series Book 1)

I’m a man possessed, flying across the ice, battling along the boards, setting up plays. My teammates match my fervor. They block shots and back-check like hell.

With two minutes left, we’re up by one. The Florida Bay Blazes pull their goalie for an extra attacker.

I dive to break up a pass and send the puck sailing down the ice…right into the empty net.

The buzzer sounds and pandemonium erupts.

Fucking shit. We did it.

Jayce and Colton crash into me and the audience fucking roars. Hats rain down. Beer is spilled. Shane sprints to the bench and grabs a bottle of champagne, shaking it wildly before popping the top and spraying everyone in reach. We scream at each other as silver glitter confetti falls on our heads like snow.

“Fuck yeah! We did it!”

Laughing, my teammates hoist me up onto their shoulders as I pump my fist in the air, lost in complete elation.

“Stellar season, Huntington.” My coach grins, clapping me on the shoulder as they set me back down. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere anytime soon. We’ve got plans for you.”

The NHL commissioner skates out to center ice for the trophy presentation. He hands the Stanley Cup to Jayce. Since he’s our captain, he’s got the rights to lift that damn thing first, and he raises it high above his head with a triumphant yell.

As the silver gleams under the arena lights and the crowd chants our names, I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Everything we fought for, all the blood, sweat, and tears—it led to this perfect, shining moment. My heart feels like it’s about to burst as we head to the locker room to start celebrating.

Inside, all my teammates are bouncing around with their loved ones while Colton pours champagne into the Cup. It’s hilarious how superstitious hockey players are—no one would touch the Cup before we won it, believing it would jinx us. But now, drinking from it after the win is supposed to bring good luck.

We howl and chant just like the fools we are, and I feel like I’m on top of the world. But something is missing.

Handing the Cup off to Malcolm, I turn to Mercer. “Hey, I know I said I’d be at the after-party, but there’s somewhere I gotta be first.”

Mercer raises an eyebrow and slips an arm around my neck, steering me to the far end of the locker room for a more private chat. “More important than celebrating with your team? You know we just won the fucking Stanley Cup, right?”

I wink at him. “We’ll celebrate all summer, coach. Give the others some camera time in the interviews. I’ll make up for it.”

Mercer laughs, a deep rumble as he holds his belly. “Young love, huh?”

“She’s the best thing that happened to me. I need to go get my girl.”

“That PR coupe worked quite well, then.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“It did. But you know what they say, sometimes you need to fake it until you make it.”