Page 129 of Playing the Pucking Game

I’m not wearing anything special, just a casual dress over a pair of leggings. But even still, his attention burns a trail from my head to my toes.

I rip myself away before I can think too much more about it and focus on changing into something more sensible for the task at hand.

I pull my dress and leggings off before replacing them with a work pair and one of my most supportive sports bras.

I almost walk out there in just that, but at the last minute, I pull a wide-armed tank from my drawer and throw it over my head as well. I’d hate for Killer to end up with a concussion and be unable to play in our next game.

“Socks off, Donnelly,” Linc states as I return.

“Oh, so it’s just our feet you have an issue with,” Killer sulks.

“There is not a single chance on this Earth that Parker’s feet have ever smelled as bad as yours,” Linc mutters.

“Told you he was a foot man,” Handsy mutters.

“Have you caught him sucking your toes in the middle of the night yet, Parker?” Brit asks with a laugh.

“Fuck off. I don’t do that.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Fletch counters.

“You can stay the hell away from my feet, Storm,” I instruct as I tug my socks off.

“I kinda get your point,” Hayden says, his eyes on my feet. “Parker’s are a hell of a lot prettier than yours.”

“And you all think I’m the foot guy.”

“Okay, enough about feet. Who am I dancing against?”

“Me,” Linc says without missing a beat.

“Bring it on, Storm. I hope you’re ready to lose to a girl, though.”

“Pfft, as if that’ll ever happen. You remember when we used to go up against each other as kids?”

“That was usually on ice or a basketball court. This is different.”

The others look between the two of us as we bicker, probably reminding them that we’ve known each other for a lot longer than we’ve known any of them.

“Are you two done? You’ll run out of energy before you get on the mats if you carry on,” Monroe says.

“We’re good. This is how we communicate,” I say with a smile. I’d be lying if I said that bickering with Linc hasn’t always been one of my favorite things to do.

“Intermediate?” Monroe asks, setting us up.

“Sure,” I agree, although secretly I’d be happier with beginner. Not a chance I’m telling any of these guys that, though.

I might have had some practice, but it’s been years.

Linc and I take our places, and I shoot him a look.

“You’re going down, Storm.”

“I can’t wait, Donnelly.” He winks, and heat surges up my neck, making my face burn red hot.

The countdown begins in front of us, and I forget about our audience and focus.

I have to beat him.