Page 18

I was being a gentleman.

Even without her regular energy, Nadia is an easy girl to talk to. Fun. How we went from her asking if I wanted to come in to watch some TV to the two of us fucking–twice–I’m still not sure.

Don’t get me wrong, Nadia is hot. All curves and a bright, welcoming smile. I’ve flirted with her before, but she’s never been interested in anything but some light flirting. Not enough of a meathead, I imagine, or plans of being drafted to the NFL. If her type is Brent Reynolds, then no wonder she’s not into me. Even though we know he’s a class-A douche, on the outside he’s got that Tom Brady, All-American good guy vibe that pro-teams eat up.

The way she reacted to waking up in bed together? Embarrassed and secretive–she definitely didn’t want Twyler and Reese to find out about us–that isn’t a response I’m used to.

I’m chalking the whole thing up to hormones and stress release. That’s it.

Except I don’t feel less stressed. I’m horny as fuck just thinking about her.

My teammates criss cross around the ice, passing the puck in sharp, zinging snaps. Despite the distraction, I do my best to stay alert and ready, catching Reese’s shot in my gloved hand.

“Nice,” Jefferson says, skating past. “Good catch.”

He takes the puck from me and tosses it on the ice. Another shot is fired my way, this time by Kirby. I bend, blocking it with the long pads that cover my knee, and it bounces back in play. He and Emerson circle one another in a quick, choreographed dance. They’ve come a long way in the last few weeks, finally gelling with one another. That cooperation is one reason we’re undefeated.

Snap!

Reese gets off another shot, I move to block it, but the biscuit soars past my shoulder, hitting the back of the net.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “Nice one, brother.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Reese skates up, a cocky grin on his face. “If anyone is going to get one past you, I want it to be me.”

We bump fists, and I grab my water bottle out of the pouch on the back of the goal. The refs blow their warning whistle—signaling the end of warmups. Following my teammates off the ice, I see Reese wave to someone up in the stands. I follow his gaze and spot Twyler dressed in a Wittmore jersey. She smiles down at her man, and I instantly look next to her, for Nadia, but she’s not there.

Jesus, what’s my problem?

One night and I can’t get this girl off my mind. Was the sex that good or was it because for the first time, in a long while, I was fully sober while doing it?

Whichever it is, now isn’t the time. We file into the locker room for a last minute pregame talk. The room is busy–hot. We’re all fully suited up. Coach Green and the new intern that took Twyler’s position are busy working with the guys that need extra support. I spot a familiar face by the door–Pete– his leg in a brace.

“Hey man,” I say, “how’s the leg?”

“Good. The surgery went well. I just have to let it heal up and keep up with PT.”

“Awesome,” I tell him. Pete’s a good guy, and an excellent player, but he fucked up his ankle by not listening to Twyler’s advice. “You do what they tell you and I’m sure you’ll be back on the ice soon. We need you out there.”

“I don’t know, man, you guys are killing it out there this season. Although,” he says, tilting his head, and looking at me thoughtfully, “I’m thinking maybe you guys should throw a game.”

“Why the hell would we do that?” Reese asks, offended at the idea of losing on purpose.

“To get Rakestraw to shave that caterpillar off his upper lip.”

I crack a smile and smooth out the fuzzy strip of hair with my fingers. “Jealous you can’t grow one of your own, baby face?”

“Don’teven think about getting rid of it,” Reid snaps. He’s the most superstitious of us all with an entire series of pre-and-post game rituals. “It’s our good luck charm.”

“Eh.” Jeff shrugs. “I’ve noticed a definite lack of puck bunnies around you the last week.” His eyebrow raises. “It's the ‘stache isn’t it? It repels hockey pucksandpussy.”

“Just because I don’t announce my every hook up on the group chat like you do, doesn’t mean I’m not getting laid.”

“He did come in before dawn the other day wearing the same clothes as the night before,” Reid says. “That ‘stache may work the magic on and off the ice.”

I’d like to think I worked my magic with Nadia, but I haven’t heard a word from her since I crawled out her bedroom window. Not that I expected to, because frankly, after that fully sober one-night-stand, she made it perfectly clear she wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened. Nadia’s got a reputation as a jersey chaser, but I have my own as a fuck-boy. Neither of us are strangers to a one time hook-up, but there was something different. Maybe because it wasn’t fueled by our usual bad habits.

Or maybe it’s because it felt incredible being inside of her.