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I laughed softly. “No kidding. Throw a bunch of eight-year-olds on skates and into the rink, and things are bound to get weird.”

“Right?” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine for a second, the faintest smile curling her lips. Then she dropped her gaze again, and the smile went with it. “Anyway, as I was getting old enough for the AA league, most of the boys were fine with it. They knew I could hold my own, and they just cared about winning, you know?” Sighing, she sat back. “The parents, though…”

I grimaced. “Yeah, I remember those days.”

“You do?”

“Are you kidding?” I stabbed at some ice cubes with my straw. “I think it’s a rite of passage for girls who play hockey if they don’t live in a place with a AA all-girls team.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Lila shook her head. “It’s so stupid. And they tried to make it sound like they were just worried I’d get beat up or something. They even tried to campaign for me to be a forward instead of playing defense because it would be”—she made air quotes—“safer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that’s bullshit.”

“Seriously. But my coaches called them out. I didn’t make the connection until they said something, but they pointed out that the only reason the parents wanted me to play offense was because they knew I’d be cut.”

“Because you had the chops to play defense,” I said, “so they wanted you in a position where you were weaker so you playing on the team would be a moot point.”

Lila’s chuckle was low and caustic. “Sounds like you’ve seen that movie.”

“Mmhmm.” I huffed sharply. “When I was U16, someone tried to make a case for making me play goalie.”

“Goalie?”Lila barked a laugh. “You? I mean, no offense, but…”

“None taken. The thing is, I was one of the tallest on the team at that point. The skaters’ parents all said it gave me an unfair advantage, and they should use my height in the net.” I tsked. “Everyone knew I’d be cut the second I tried to play goalie.”

Lila studied me, then slowly exhaled. “I wonder how often that kind of thing happened to other girls.”

“I’m sure there were leagues where it didn’t,” I said. “But I swear every girl I played with in major juniors had some story about butthurt parents of boys. If it wasn’t the parents of their own teammates, it was opposing players.”

She groaned. “Oh, God, they were theworst.” She picked up her drink. “You know one of them actually got caught telling her son to try to take me out of the game?”

My jaw went slack. “No shit? You mean she wasn’t even smart enough to say it in the car or something where no one would hear?”

“Apparently not.” She paused, lips quirked. “Honestly, looking back, her son might’ve ratted her out. I never heard the full story, but I played against him a few times and with him for one season, and he was a good kid. So it wouldn’t surprise me if he told the refs or his coach.”

“Well, good on him.”

“No kidding.” Lila smirked. “Though after that, every time he checked me, he’d just shrug and say his mom told him to.”

A laugh burst out of me. “What a little shit!”

“I know, right?” The smirk turned to a cocky grin that had no business being that sexy. “He blocked one of my shots one time. Caught right in the inner thigh.”

I grimaced and rubbed a spot on my own inner thigh where a blocked shot had left a nasty bruise a few years ago.

“He went down,” Lila went on, “because, I mean, that shit hurts, right? So as he’s getting helped back to the bench, I skated by and said, ‘tell your mom that one was from me.’”

“Oh my God! And you didn’t get an unsportsmanlike for that?”

“Nah.” She shook her head. “Even he thought it was funny. The ref tried to give me a dirty look over it, but he couldn’t help laughing.”

“Everybody knew about the incident with his mom, didn’t they?”

“Yep. And I don’t think anybody ever let him forget it.” She tapped her thumb on the edge of her phone case. “So most people were good, you know? And especially after they saw me play, they usually didn’t bitch about me being on teams. It was really just a struggle to pay for it all, you know? Like I said, my parents got me as much equipment as they could, but hockey gear isn’t cheap.” She laughed softly. “From the time I was about twelve or thirteen, I worked alotof hours at the rink’s concession stand just so I could keep my skates sharp and replace broken sticks.”

“They let you do that? The rinks, I mean?”

“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged. “They were hard up for staff, and my parents didn’t object, so they let me work and paid me under the table. I doubt they could get away with it now, but I’m glad they did then.”