Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey 2)

“I know. I should have got it outright, but I’ll play along. We both know who the team is going to vote for.”

My hands ball into fists, and I shove them into my pockets. “You might as well not try, then. You go enjoy your summer in France or Argentina or wherever the hell you’re going to next.”

“Argentina?” He laughs. “Please. But no, I figure I’m a senior now. Might as well get the full college experience while I can.”

“What do you—”

“Maybe I’ll stay in Vermont this summer.”

“How boring for you.” I can’t even ditch him as we head for the dorms because we’re in the same damn building.

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to keep busy.”

Right. Good. Fine. Why is he telling me this shit? I try ignoring him, but Beck being Beck, he doesn’t get the message.

“Maybe we’ll spend the summer together. A little bonding time. Some one-on-one.”

“What?” I finally stop and give him my attention. “What are you rambling about?”

“Training camp.” He tilts his head. “Coach is always looking for extra hands to run drills with the high school kids. Aw, you didn’t think I’d let you have that all to yourself, did you? That’s adorable.”

“You’ve never done a training camp in your life.”

“Good thing I like new experiences.”

“Unbelievable.” I pick up my pace toward the dorms. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get rid of him.

“Why thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“And yet I’m taking it as one anyway.”

I manage to keep all my thoughts in as I jog up the stairs and swipe into the dorm. I try shutting the door on Beck, but he darts through after me, sticking close by as we cross the foyer.

He even joins me in the fucking elevator.

As soon as the doors close, I round on him. “Why are you doing this?”

“You really could be referring to literally anything right now.”

He’s got a point. I can’t even figure out what I’m annoyed about most. “You wanna do training camp, fine, but it’s not a vacation. It’s a lot of work.”

“Oh, no, how ever will I manage?”

“I don’t care. Just keep out of my way.”

The elevator stops at my floor, and as I’m getting out, Beck grabs my arm. He yanks me to face him, and I forget everything I was going to say.

Too close. Too fucking close.

I can see every one of his light eyelashes. His stare dips to my nose, my mouth, my chin.

Then his smile unfurls, promising wicked things, and I can’t tear my eyes away as I brace for whatever’s about to come next.

“That captain spot is as good as mine.”

“If you say so,” I growl.

Beck boops me on the nose, and I jerk back out of his hold and get the hell away. He waits until the elevator doors are closing before he gets in the final word. Like usual.

“May the best captain win.”

2

Beck

I don’t know what Christopher Jacobs has against me, and I wish I could say that I care, but I don’t. I actually like the way he’s salty with me. Probably more than I should.

Caring is for adults, and until I walk across that stage in a gown and stupid hat, I will not consider myself to be an adult. Or mature. Or really all that responsible.

That’s for future me to deal with and present me to flip off.

Honestly, I was surprised the coaches even considered me for captain. I thought for sure Jacobs would have it in the bag. He and Foster Grant have been tight forever. It makes sense for Jacobs to take the spot.

Having said that, no way am I backing away from it. This is my last year for glory. My last year of freedom. If I can go out on top, I’m gonna take it.

It also helps that I’ll be spending my last summer playing a game I love and am nowhere near ready to give up. Jacobs might have been right about my summer plans. I was all set to fly to Greece to spend the break on my parents’ yacht. Sounds glamorous, but it’s fucking boring. Everything seems to bore me lately. The thought of partying it up with my younger sister in the clubs in Greece doesn’t hold the appeal it used to.

As the clock winds down on my adolescence, the more action and excitement I crave. Adrenaline. Testosterone. Hockey.

Helping out with training camp this year was the perfect excuse to get out of Dad constantly reminding me my time to do stupid shit is running out. Whenever I come home hungover or with a one-night stand or he has to bail me out of jail—which has only happened once—he taps his watch. “Time for this foolishness is running out, son.”

So, yeah, this summer will be awesome. Getting to torment Jacobs is a bonus.

The challenge in his eyes over this captain thing sent a jolt of adrenaline through me, and I haven’t felt that high in a while.