Page 4 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

Yeah… I don’t think so.

“Lose my power?” My brow twitches for a second, and then I burst into antagonizing laughter.

My side aches as I clutch it, allowing the cackle to bubble in my chest. I’m being an asshole.

I hate being an asshole. But sometimes, I’m not as mature as the "C" on my jersey suggests. I shake my head, managing to force out a weak “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Darcy,” she replies plainly. “You?”

“Peyton.” I wet my lips, the cold air rushing over my tongue. “You know, Darcy, I’ve been playing since I was four, so, if I was going to ‘lose my power,’ as you put it, I think it would’ve happened by now.”

She frowns, briefly, before adjusting her pronounced expression to something daring.

“Let’s see it then,” she declares, leaning against the gate.

My head tilts, searching her face for something that tells me she’s joking.

But I don’t find it. Instead, those taunting green eyes stare me down, and I know I don’t need to prove myself to this woman, but I want to anyway.

Not because she’s clearly out of her element, or because I want to put her in her place, but because it’s all I’ve ever done.

Try to prove myself.

“Fine.”

I push off the ice, skating back toward the puck she tossed at me with careless precision.

Her gaze never leaves me, and in spite of the nervous flutter in my stomach, I flash a sly grin, praying for the rush of victory.

I draw my stick back and slam it down, sending the puck hurtling across the rink in a perfect snapshot.

It soars through the air like a prowling bird, descending with speed into the net. An explosive twang echoes across the rink, but then, to my surprise, another one follows. My eyes widen, brows shooting to my hairline as my brain tries to process what just happened. And then I realize—

The puck split in half .

One half stays caught in the net, while the other flies through the spaces between, slamming against the boards, punctuating the silence.

I glide over, scooping a piece into my palm, then thrusting it into the air, spinning around to face her as I call out, “How’s that for power? ” with a cocky grin.

Darcy rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s impressed by the cute tug at the corners of her lips. I skate over to her, waving the piece of rubber tauntingly in her face.

“Impressive,” she admits, eyes sparkling beneath the rink lights. “But broken pucks won’t save you from tendinitis.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” I pry.

She doesn’t budge. “Nope.”

My tongue traces the inside of my cheek, fighting back a grin. “Are you a business major by chance?”

“ No ,” she answers, tone flicking hesitantly at the end. “Why?”

I shrug, no longer fighting the smile threatening to show, and letting the full arrogance of it conquer my face. “I just figured, since you like to give unsolicited advice and all—”

A laugh breaks out of her, partially amused, but mostly annoyed. Her shoulders square, but just as her mouth opens to respond, a loud clank echoes through the rink—the sound of the surrounding gate unlocking.

"Shit!" I whisper, my heart leaping into my throat as a beam of light suddenly slices through the darkness of the stadium seats. I throw a frantic glance at Darcy, waving my hand for her to follow as I shove open the rink gate, and step off the ice. "Go!"

Her eyes widen, and without hesitation, she spins around, darting for the fence. Instinctively, I grab her arm, my glove slipping against the soft fabric of her tight black turtleneck. "What are you doing?" I hiss under my breath. "You're going to get caught. Get over here!"

I jerk my head toward the back row of seats in the stands.

We’re hidden there just in time, crouching down as the footsteps of campus security shuffle along the concrete, the flashlight beam sweeping lazily across the stadium like a spotlight on a show I want no part of.

A show that could get my spot as Captain ripped away from me.

My breath is shallow, the air too thick, and the close proximity of Darcy only makes it harder to concentrate on my quiet breaths.

I shift, slipping off my gloves, pinning them between my armpit.

A sharp jab hits my ribs, and I snap my head over to her.

"Ouch," I mutter.

She’s not having it, though, whispering through clenched teeth, "You’re on my foot ."

My eyes dart down. My skates are planted directly on her worn, white, slip-on sneakers. I shuffle to the side, heart racing, hands sweating so intensely that the broken puck gripped in my palm nearly slips. I set it on the ground beside me.

"Sorry," I murmur, and then, silence. The only sound in the stadium is the footsteps of the security guard, and with every beat of my heart against my chest, they seem to get louder. Closer. Darcy’s gloved fingers wring around one another nervously, the almost silent scrape of fabric complimenting her breath against the back of my neck, quick and uneven.

I glance at her briefly, before locking my gaze back onto the light as I whisper softly, "Chill out. We’re fine. "

Her eyes flick up, brows pressed tightly together as she practically mouths her response. "I just transferred. I’m gonna get suspended after a month?" She pauses. “My mom is going to kill me.”

So that’s why I don’t know her.

I roll my eyes. "You’re not gonna get suspended. Relax. I’ve done this for three years and never been caught."

She waits an almost comedic beat before responding. "I caught you."

"Well, most people aren’t wandering around at four in the morning," I snap back, head tilted slightly in her direction, just enough to get a whiff of her perfume. It’s fruity and soft, dark cherry and almond floating in the little space between us, drawing me closer.

"I was exploring!" she hisses, too loudly, and the flashlight beam swings toward us. My pulse quickens. I hold my breath. We don’t move, not even a twitch, hearts thundering as the footsteps grow louder, sweeping across the paved ground.

Our gazes are locked, holding one another hostage, or maybe that’s just how it feels, because Darcy’s eyes are a shade of green that I swear holds my breath, and everything else inside me, still.

I can feel her heartbeat, pulsing from her shoulder through mine, probably communicating in morse code that she hates me.

But just as the footsteps start to rise toward us, a loud, staticky voice breaks the moment.

“We’ve got some drunk students breaking into the Grizzly Grind, need units over here. Rogers, you got it?”

A high-pitched beep pierces the air, followed by a low murmur, responding from nearby. We don’t move. Don’t breathe. “I’m on it."

The flashlight swirls one more time, and then, finally, the guard’s footsteps descend. We both exhale slowly, listening as he approaches the gate. "That was close," I mutter, still crouched, but Darcy shoots me a death stare.

"I told you we aren’t supposed to be here," she whispers sharply, pointed jaw clenched. "But since you want to be fucking Icarus—"

" Icarus ?" I blink, the warmth of her breath brushing against my cheek. I wipe it on my damp shoulder. "What is that, a disease?"

"Wha— no! " Her hands toss up, brows weaving together. "It’s the boy who flew too close to the sun. And you —"

I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips as I swipe at the lock of her red hair that’s tickling my nose. "Look up, Kim Possible. Do you see the sun?"

Darcy’s expression turns mocking as she peeks cautiously over the top of the stands, eyes shooting wide when she spots the security guard still lingering near the gate.

"Oh my god. Shut. Up. Shut up!" she hisses, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the ground, even though I hadn’t even stood up yet.

My lips quiver in amusement, but I manage to bite it back, the pulse of her heart returning against my arm, almost in sync with my own. And only when the clink of the gate finally sounds do we straighten up, slowly.

"Oh my god, you lived!" I mock, pressing my hand to my chest in exaggerated surprise. Darcy’s eyes narrow.

"You really are insufferable," she says, the corners of her lips defying her, and I can’t help but smile wider.

"Why thank you."

"That’s not a compliment."

My posture straightens fully now, and I brush a hand through my sweaty hair, heading for the aisle. "Anything is a compliment if you want it to be."

Her gaze drops to her shoulder, the spot where hers had brushed against mine. There’s a dark patch on the fabric, almost wet.

"Is that… your sweat ?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.

I glance down at the dampness on her shirt and then back to myself. "Appears so."

I begin stepping backwards down the steps, internally cringing for the sake of my skates’ blades, grinning as Darcy grimaces in disgust.

"Consider yourself lucky!" I call out, stepping onto the ground level. "That’s the sweat of the team captain."