Power Plays & Straight A's (CU Hockey 1)

He pulls out a notebook. “So, what I really don’t understand is how individual goals affect the group mentality of a team.”

“Straight to it, huh?”

“Out on the ice tonight, you were slamming your teammates into the wall—”

“Boards. They’re called boards.”

“Those things. You were violent with the people you have to play with next month when the season starts. How is that good for team morale?”

“You know when the season starts? Impressive.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Okay, I might have been a bit hard on one of the new guys tonight, but he deserved it. Besides, in an actual game, he’ll get hit a lot harder than that.”

“I’m starting to wonder if I should make my thesis about a jock’s mind and the need to be all grunty and violent, risking concussions and permanent injury so they can chase a ball.”

I blink at him. Then blink again. “A … ball. A ball?”

“Uh, a disc?”

“It’s a puck! How are you friends with my brother and you don’t even know what a puck is?”

“Funnily enough, when Seth and I hang out, your name doesn’t generally come up.”

I smirk. “But it does sometimes.”

“You’re mocking me.” He sighs in exasperation. “Are you going to help me with this or not?”

There’s a knock at the door, and I jump up to tip the delivery dude. “After pizza.”

6

Zach

As Foster gets up to pay for the pizza, I can’t draw my stare away from the Foster-shaped imprint on my bed. My tiny bed. My bed that was made to look even tinier with Foster’s large body draped over it.

There is no way I’ll be sleeping tonight.

The door clicks closed, and I force my attention to the pizza and not the guy carrying it. The guy currently filling up more of my room than he has any right to. The smell makes my head swim which is a dangerous concept considering the current thump of my pulse in my ears.

“Pepperoni and peppers,” he announces like I wasn’t there when he ordered it.

Foster sprawls across the floor, and I’m grateful he didn’t try to eat in my bed, except now he’s closer, with only the pizza box between us. It’s not until Foster starts to devour a slice like he’s on a timer that I realize I can’t remember a time when it was ever us one-on-one, other than brief passes in the hall, or if Seth ducked out to use the bathroom. I’m far too nervous to consume a bite.

Instead, I get back to psychology. The reason we’re here. The thing that is going to move my focus away from how Foster’s wide jaw works around the slice to something that doesn’t make me want to drop from my desk chair and move closer to him.

“Tell me.” The words come out wrong, so I clear my throat and try again. “When you hurt each other, doesn’t that cause resentment within the team?”

Foster groans. “No school talk while we eat.” He nudges the box toward me, and I reluctantly reach down for a slice while managing to stay balanced on my chair.

“What do you do for fun?” he asks around a mouthful.

“I read.”

“If you say psychology books, I’m gonna have to leave.”

My lips buckle under a smile—is that all he thinks I am? “I have other interests.”

“Well, don’t list them all at once.”

“I read mystery novels, color to destress, and debate my mom on the concept of fortune tellers since she insists on seeing one every other month. I’m undefeated against Seth at chess, and I, um …” I stall, but power on because what’s the harm at this point? “Like to ride.”

His eyebrows jump up. “Ride?”

“Yes. Biking is relaxing.”

He laughs as he starts on slice number two, and I’m struggling to work out what he finds so funny.

“I assume you think because I like books, I can’t possibly be interested in anything physical.”

“Not at all.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “That was, ah, enlightening.”

He’s making fun of me. I hold back my sigh and take a bite of the oily pizza for no other reason than to occupy my mouth. Anything to stop another torrent of ridiculous information. In fact, did he really not want me to list it all? I’d interpreted that as sarcasm, but now I’m not so sure.

This was a terrible idea. How did I think I could sufficiently function while there was a cute guy in my room?

Cute?

I mentally scoff at the ridiculous descriptor. I’m ashamed of my body’s reaction at seeing him dominate during his training this evening. Even though conceptually I understand it was nothing more than being drawn to the alpha male who was exhibiting extreme competency in his chosen field, it didn’t stop excitement from twisting in my veins.

That same excitement that always lingers when he’s around.

He polishes off a third slice, so I figure now is as good a time as ever to return to the reason he’s here. At least if we’re focused on examining theory, he’ll be distracted from examining me.