Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

Who does Westly Dalton think he is? Storming into my office to throw a tantrum over his slacker younger brother. That’s jocks for you. Acting first and thinking second, sticking together even when they’re in the wrong, and everyone’s content to let them get away with it.

Something has to be done.

Unlike Coach Dalton, I know stomping my feet and expecting to get my way doesn’t work. The dean won’t care. Westly is his star recruit, and Asher is their star player. If I go to the dean, I can already see him telling me to give the extra credit and be done with it. Or worse, give Asher a pass even if he doesn’t know the material.

The jocks in my high school got away with that shit, but I won’t allow it in my class.

Not happening. Everyone gets an equal opportunity, and everyone has to put in the work to pass.

I rub my jaw, the skin rough under my fingers, already needing a shave.

The mature side of my brain is telling me to let it go. I stood my ground, I got my outcome.

The part of me that’s still the bullied teenager I was in high school wants to put him in his place.

My juvenile side wins out.

Coach Hogan is no better than the dean when it comes to his staff, but where the dean folds under the funding brought in by the sports teams, Coach Hogan doesn’t have that stress and likes to keep a tight leash on his coaches and his team. We’ve never seen eye to eye on much, but I know he won’t be impressed to learn his superstar is running around bullying the faculty.

Coach Hogan is an asshole jock, but he has morals.

By the time I head across campus toward the arena, it’s getting late, and if the steady stream of navy-and-silver windbreakers is anything to go by, I’d say practice has just finished. Some of the team recognize me but don’t say anything, which is fine by me. I’m no longer easy to intimidate, but I don’t think I’ll ever get past large groups making me nervous.

I shoulder open the door to the arena and hesitate before picking a direction down the hall. I’ve never been here, and I honestly thought I’d never have to be.

I reach a set of double doors that lead to the rink and decide to shortcut through there to reach the locker room. I’m expecting it to be deserted, but there’s a lone figure out on the ice.

It’s not until I’m closer that I realize who it is. Coach Dalton is skating hard and hasn’t noticed me yet. His dark hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, and I wonder how long he’s been at it. He’s clearly still got anger to work out with the way he’s tearing up and down the rink, bent low, strong legs displaying power in every move. It would almost be attractive if he wasn’t an undomesticated caveman.

I slip past without him noticing and make my way down the long corridor until I reach Coach Hogan’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk, staring at something on his monitor. And instead of barging in like an oaf, I knock on the doorframe.

It takes a moment, but when he pulls back and sees me, his face stretches into a smug grin. “Eckstein. Come to join the hockey team, have you?”

“Funny,” I answer. “And the last-name thing might be how you do it down here, but I’ve asked you to call me Jasper.”

“Right. Jasper. Why are you here? Want to whine about my budget some more?”

“We both know it’s bullshit—”

He interrupts me with a long groan, but I keep talking.

“Math is the foundation for jobs that will benefit the economy. Engineers, doctors, literally anything to do with computers and coding—”

“We’ve been over this. I don’t make the budget … I just bring in the money for it.”

For the love of jocks. How is peacocking a prized trait? Sometimes it’s like the rest of the world has gone mad. I suck in a long breath as I take the seat across from him. “I’m not here to talk budgets. I want you to keep your coaches and players under control.”

His cocky attitude disappears in a snap. “Why? What happened?”

That’s more like it.

“Asher Dalton is failing my class, so I suggested he drop it in order to keep his place on your team. Instead of following my suggestion, he ran to his big brother. For some reason, Coach Dalton thought storming into my office and making demands would somehow change my mind.”

Paul leans back in his chair and takes me in. “What demands was he making?”

“He wanted me to give Asher extra-credit work so he could pass. Which I don’t do for anyone.” It’s a blanket policy of mine. When your class is a core subject for numerous degrees, I can usually count on one hand the number of students who actually want to be there. Asher Dalton is far from one of them. And he’s far from the first wanting extra credit because he couldn’t manage his course load.