After the Whistle — Bonus Chapter

Nice Whistle, Ref
by Aurora North

An exclusive bonus chapter from After the Whistle. Riley POV — six months later.

The charity exhibition game was Eve’s idea.

She’d pitched it to the NWHL Players’ Association in March — a summer showcase, proceeds going to girls’ hockey programs in underserved communities. The league loved it. The venue — a mid-size arena in Providence — loved it.

Riley had not been consulted about the officiating assignments. But when Marjorie called and said, “You’re working the exhibition. Yes, with Korhonen on the ice. Consider it a gift,” Riley had said thank you and hung up and stared at Pekka and thought about what it would feel like to stand at center ice with Eve ten feet away for the first time since everything changed.

Eve skated past Riley during warm-ups. She didn’t look at Riley. But as she passed the center circle, she murmured: “Nice whistle, ref.”

Riley’s ears went red. Instantly, violently red.

The game was beautiful. Eve scored twice. Each time, Riley stood at center ice and felt the impact in her chest. She didn’t cheer. She was professional. But her ears were still red, and Eve definitely noticed.

Riley filed her game report — nothing to note except a delay-of-game call she’d made on Eve for shooting the puck into the stands on purpose, which Eve had done while making direct eye contact with Riley, which was absolutely a power move.

Eve was leaning against Riley’s car in the parking lot.

Jeans, white T-shirt, hair down and still damp. The expression on her face was the one Riley had learned to read as trouble. The good kind.

“You penalized me,” Eve said.

“You shot the puck into the stands.”

“It slipped.”

“It slipped at a trajectory consistent with a deliberate, full-force wrist shot aimed at the fourth row.”

“You’re very technical about this.”

“I’m a referee. Technical is my love language.”

“You were staring at me,” Eve said.

“I was watching the puck.”

“You were staring at my ass during the second period. I could feel it.”

“That’s — I was monitoring player positioning.”

“My ass is not a player position.”

“It is when it’s in my sight line.”

“Get in the car,” Eve said.

“We’re in a parking lot.”

“I know we’re in a parking lot. Get in the car.”

Eve reached across the console and turned Riley’s face toward her. “I’ve been thinking about this all game. Standing on the ice, watching you in your stripes, making calls in that voice. Do you know what that voice does to me?”

“The professional voice?”

“The flat, carrying, ‘I am in charge and you will listen’ voice. I’ve been wet since the first faceoff.”

Eve kissed her. Hard. Her hand fisted in Riley’s shirt, her mouth hot and insistent.

“Back seat,” Eve said against her mouth.

“The back seat of a Subaru is not designed for—”

“I don’t care. Back seat. Now.”

They climbed into the back seat with the graceless urgency of two people past the point of caring about logistics. Eve straddled Riley, knees on either side of her hips. The windows were already fogging.

“Someone could see,” Riley said.

“The windows are fogging. And it’s Providence. Nobody is looking at a Subaru.” Eve pulled her T-shirt over her head. “Unless you want to stop.”

“I will never want to stop.”

“Then stop talking about parking lots and touch me.”

Riley touched her. Hands on Eve’s waist, up her ribs. She unclasped Eve’s bra and put her mouth on Eve’s breast and Eve’s head fell back against the ceiling and she made a sound that fogged the windows faster.

“I thought about this on the ice,” Eve gasped. “Every time you blew that whistle. I thought about your mouth.”

“During the game. While you were being professional and competent and impossibly hot in those stupid stripes.” Eve pulled Riley’s shirt off. “I almost missed a pass because you bent over to pick up a broken stick and I lost my entire train of thought.”

“You’re a professional hazard. Your entire existence is a hazard to my ability to play hockey.”

Riley’s hand slid between them. Down Eve’s stomach, past the waistband of her jeans, and inside. Eve was soaked — the kind of arousal that had been building for three hours of watching Riley in referee stripes. Riley’s fingers found her clit and Eve’s hips jerked.

“The way you stand at center ice like you own it. Like the whole game belongs to you.”

“The game doesn’t belong to me.”

“No. But I do.”

Riley pressed harder. Tighter circles, the rhythm she’d memorized over months — the exact pressure, the exact speed that made Eve come apart. Eve braced her hands on the ceiling and rode Riley’s hand, her breathing fracturing into gasps.

“Inside,” Eve breathed. “I need you inside me.”

Riley slid two fingers into her and Eve cried out. The car rocked on its suspension. Riley thrust into her with slow, deep strokes, curling her fingers, her thumb on Eve’s clit. Eve was loud. Louder than the apartment, louder than Helsinki. She was screaming in a Subaru in Providence, and Riley loved every decibel.

“Oh God — right there — Riley, don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping. Come for me.”

Eve came. Full-body, devastating. She clenched around Riley’s fingers in rhythmic pulses, and the sound she made — a sustained, breaking cry — was the most erotic thing Riley had ever heard.

Eve collapsed against her, trembling. Then: “Your turn. Lean back.”

Eve slid down, unzipped Riley’s jeans, pulled them to her knees, and settled between Riley’s thighs in the limited space of the back seat.

“This is logistically—” Riley started.

Eve put her mouth on her, and the sentence died.

Eve’s tongue was relentless — flat, firm strokes that hit exactly where Riley needed. Riley came in under two minutes. She grabbed the headrest with one hand and the door handle with the other and made a sound that was trying to be quiet and failing spectacularly.

“So much for ‘appropriately restrained public behavior,’” Eve said from between her thighs.

“Shut up.”

“You literally just screamed in a Subaru.”

“I did not scream. I — vocalized.”

“You vocalized my name. Twice. At a volume that could be heard in the arena.”

Riley pulled Eve up and kissed her — tasting herself on Eve’s mouth, the six months of love and laughter and fighting about drawer organization and cooking flamingo soup in Helsinki.

They rearranged themselves. Clothes restored, hair smoothed, grinning like teenagers who’d gotten away with something.

“You planned car sex?” Riley said.

“I planned proximity sex. The car was improvised. I scouted the supply closets but Providence’s arena doesn’t have one in the right spot.”

“You scouted the supply closets?”

“I’m a professional athlete. I scout everything.”

Riley started the car. Eve put her hand on the center console. Palm up. The same gesture she’d made in a bar in Montreal a lifetime ago.

Riley took it. Their fingers intertwined.

“Nice whistle, ref,” Eve said.

“Nice goal, seventeen.”

They drove home. Eve’s hand in hers, the radio playing something Finnish that Eve sang along to badly, the highway unspooling in front of them like fresh ice — unmarked, full of potential, theirs.

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