Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

“Flirting. I thought we established that.”

“But why?” Because as cute as it is, we parted ways with a clear understanding of what happened.

“I can’t help it. Seeing you naked has turned me into a flirt.”

“I somehow doubt that’s what did it. From what I’ve read, you’ve got flirting down to an art.”

“Still googling me, huh? I’m like a can of Pringles. Once you pop—”

“Order for West.”

I glance behind him to where his drink is waiting on the counter, and he quickly steps away.

“I’ve gotta get going.”

“Okay.”

He grabs his drink, takes a sip, then heads for the door. But before he passes me, he pauses, shoulder against my shoulder.

“I’ll see you around.” His green eyes meet mine. “Professor.”

15

Westly

Our guys are killing it on the ice tonight, and even though I’m still getting used to remaining on this side of the team box, I get the same thrill here as being the one to put the biscuit in the basket.

It’s the team camaraderie and the group effort that sends adrenaline through my veins. I never much liked being the one in the spotlight, which is probably why I never came out publicly. It was easy to hide behind Ezra’s antics. But that feeling of being a part of something amazing—that’s what I loved about playing. I miss being out there for sure, but as long as I have hockey in my life, I’m happy.

And as I watch my brother skate circles around the other team and put one in the net, it’s as if I’m out there with him.

The team is really coming together. Preseason was a mess because we lost all our best players last year to graduation except for Asher. And because my brother is pigheaded and stubborn, he wasn’t exactly welcoming to his new line mates at first. Slowly but surely, they’re finding a way to put their egos aside and work as one. It’s awesome to watch.

If they keep it up, they could go all the way this year.

Asher drops his stick in the next play. There’s only one reason he’d do it.

“Broken stick,” I call out to Kole, the equipment manager, but he’s already on it. He grabs a new one, jumps onto a bench, and extends it over the side of the team box.

Asher skates by in a whirl, reflexively and smoothly making the transition, and catches up to the others in our attack zone. The fresh blade touches the ice just as Simms passes to Asher, and Asher scores back-to-back goals.

I shake my head with a laugh. My brother has so much fucking talent, but unfortunately, he’s always resented living in my shadow. Soon enough, he’ll be in the NHL, breaking my records and winning more awards than I ever did.

I clap Kole on the shoulder. “Nice assist.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

I don’t know what possessed Coach Hogan’s kid to be the equipment manager this year, considering he hates hockey. He’s premed, and the only reason I think he’s here is because he lost some bet with his dad, but I’m thankful for it because he’s helping Asher study and get his grades where they need to be.

I do get the sneaking suspicion more might be going on between the two of them because they’re always together lately, but I’m choosing plausible deniability on this. If I’m clueless, I can’t get in trouble for it.

That’s my denial, and I’m living in it.

The game isn’t even close, but it’s still thrilling to watch. I can’t wait for a day where I get to go to away games too. I’m thankful Coach Hogan is lenient when it comes to my situation, but I sometimes feel like I’m slacking. Coaches should be there for all games.

The score is 5-1 to us with only a few minutes left on the clock. We’ve got this in the bag. All we’re doing now is waiting for the time to wind down before we celebrate. It’s impossible for the other team to score four goals in the time we have left, but hockey players are nothing but superstitious. You never celebrate until the buzzer sounds lest the team be struck down by an act of God. Simultaneous broken legs. It could happen.

In the last few seconds, I take in everyone in the stands. The home crowd adds to the energy, and it’s a pure adrenaline high. Then my gaze gets stuck on someone. Someone who really doesn’t belong here, and I can’t help smiling.

Jasper’s pale blue eyes lock with mine, and then he lifts one shoulder as if to say, “Eh.”

When the final buzzer sounds and the guys leave the ice, I follow the team down the chute. TJ Beckett, one of my players from last season, who’s an assistant coach this year, is outside the locker room when I get there.

“Hey, I have to go check on something outside. Cover for me?” I ask.