Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey 2)

It gave me that thrill—that escape I’m always searching for—but now, a mere ten minutes after leaving his room, I realize it wasn’t enough.

I need that repeat to happen ASAP.

The kids are all hungover for practice the following day, and so is half of the team. Jacobs and I are running a scrimmage, refereeing for the mixture of team members and camp kids.

The kids fall more than they skate, and every time someone takes a dive, I cringe.

Jacobs seems smug about it, but the coaches are pissed. When the coaches ask what happened, I’m sure Jacobs is going to throw me under the bus.

He doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut and keeps skating by, but not before I see his I told you so expression.

I’m already failing as a role model even though I haven’t actually taken the official position yet.

Maybe Jacobs is keeping quiet because he’s been holding out for tonight as much as I have.

While I should be keeping an eye on the scrimmage, I keep stealing glances across the ice at Jacobs.

I’ve been on my best behavior all day because there’s a fine line between riling Jacobs up and him wanting to murder me.

My newfound enjoyment of manhandling does have some limits. Rough sex, good. Murder, bad.

Not that I think he’d ever take a swing at me. I just get the feeling he’s been close. A lot.

I may have relived what happened in his dorm room while I was showering this morning.

All that power in his body as he lifted me. Me. I’m bigger than him, but he pressed me against that wall and carried me across his room without breaking a sweat.

No, the sweating came later while he was on top of me. Grinding. And thrusting into his fist while dragging his hard cock along—

One of the camp kids slams into me, knocking me off my skates.

Yup, that’s what happens when you’re not concentrating.

I get up and shake it off, my ego taking more of a hit than my body, but speaking of dumb moves, not two minutes later, Tamm, who’s one of the kids hungover as fuck, gets a lazy penalty for tripping because I don’t think he actually realized his stick was in someone else’s way.

The other kid—I forget his name—is pissed, and his gloves come off before we can get to either of them.

I blow my whistle, but now they’re fighting.

Great.

Jacobs and I get in there and pull them apart, holding each of them back.

“You tripped me!”

I hold on to the kid tighter. He’s trying to fight his way out of my grip.

“It was an accident, asshole,” Tamm yells.

“Bullshit.”

I feel the coaches’ disapproving stares from here.

This camp isn’t only about scouting future potential players for the school but for team and skill building for those on the current roster. And today’s activity is no doubt testing Jacobs’s and my leadership skills.

It’s hands-on, and like the coaches said at the start, they’re watching everything.

I tug on my guy’s arm. “Look, hockey players are notoriously known for being hotheaded. It’s our one fatal flaw. If you can’t get a handle on it, you shouldn’t be playing. If you hadn’t retaliated, your team would’ve had a power play, but instead, you get your own penalty. You screwed your team. Go. Sin bin. Both of you.”

We release them, but I escort them off the ice in case they go at each other again.

By the time practice is over, we’re all exhausted, even the ones who didn’t get hammered last night.

As we pack up and head off the ice, Jacobs falls in line beside me. “You handled the fight well.”

I pull up short. “That sounded like a compliment, but that can’t be right.”

“Forget it.” He goes to walk off, but I grab the sleeve of his jersey to stop him.

I lower my voice. “Am I coming over tonight?”

His gaze darts down the chute, and he bites his lip. I want to offer to bite it for him.

Cohen’s voice travels up the hallway. “Last one in the locker room buys drinks at McIntyre’s.”

I groan. “I’m going to sound fifty, but didn’t they drink enough last night?”

Jacobs snorts. “You don’t sound fifty, but you do sound a hell of a lot like my thoughts.”

“We’re reading each other’s minds now? That’s so …”

“Gross.”

I laugh. “What are the chances of getting out of going to McIntyre’s?”

“About the same odds as we had getting out of those stupid challenges.”

I purse my lips. “So, we could do it, but it would be suspicious.”

“Yup.”

“Rain check or has your freak-out kicked in?”

“I’m not … freaking out.”

Mmhmm, and that sounds so believable too. “If you say so.”

We head down the corridor to the locker room, but just before crossing over the threshold, I stop and shove Jacobs forward.

“What the f—”

“Oops. I guess I have to pay now.”

The assessing look Jacobs throws my way makes me instantly uncomfortable.