Page 81 of Puck Love

Smitty marched the kids out like well-trained troops while I stood by, unable to string together a cohesive sentence.

I picked at my kabob, staring at the wood-grain picnic table, my mind whirling at top speeds. Someone knew about us. Someone I trusted. The sky hadn’t fallen, and no one had died. Don’t get me wrong, it still felt dangerous and unsettled, but I wasn’t afraid and I wondered what, if anything, that meant.

23

JAKE

“Weren’t we supposed to take the kids to the diner for shakes after practice?”

I stole the puck from Trinsky and passed it to Eli, who sped away with one last glance over his shoulder as if worried Denver’s forward was about to come after him with guns blazing.

“Yep.” Trinsky slowed at center ice with his hands on his hips. “You jonesin’ for chocolate?”

“Chocolate peanut butter with chocolate chips.”

“Dude, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Right?” I brushed his shoulder, sliding my pinky finger along his. “Cradle the puck, Jensen. Don’t push it.”

We separated, cheering Eli’s goal and finding each other again when Dimistri, a D-man from Pittsburgh ran through a spiel about the defense’s breakdown.

“You’re killing me, Jakey,” he hummed, eyes on the teens a few feet away.

“Sorry. It’s your fault for not coming by last night.”

“Denny and Hank were at Annie’s and stopped by afterward. It felt like a hostage situation. I couldn’t leave without a goodstory, and I didn’t have one of those. I told you Annie’s on to me. And by the way, if you give me another hickey, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

I laughed aloud and all heads swiveled in our direction. I made up for it by slugging him in the arm, but it was a weak gesture. In fact, it was beginning to feel like the cat was out of the bag. Well, partially anyway.

Trinsky and I were friends—and after getting caught by Smitty and the kids, I’d officially given up the pretense. It was hard enough to keep my distance and not stare at his sexy body during camp time. I couldn’t do that and act like I hated him too. Yeah, there’d be no Oscar wins in my future.

“I’d love to see you try.” I checked the time, bumping his elbow. “See you at the diner.”

We took our skates off and waited for our campers in the lobby before trudging as a group a few blocks to the Elmwood Diner. We’d done this a few times. JC’s poutine and large shakes were a camp staple.

The teens gravitated toward the bigger booths, climbing over each other and squeezing in till they were packed like sweaty sardines. The coaches were a bit more civilized. Six of us sat two tables away from them, talking about a wide variety of important topics, like what those frozen flavored tubes that were popular when we were kids were called.

“Otter Pops,” Denny said, licking whipped cream off his shake.

Trinsky and I shared a clandestine look that could have become dangerous if his cell hadn’t buzzed and ruined the moment. He fished his phone from his pocket, the conversation continuing at the table without skipping a beat.

“Freeze Pops.”

“Ice Pops.”

“Fla-Vor-Ice,” I offered.

“What do you think, Trinsky?” Dimistri asked.

Trinsky glanced up from his cell distractedly. “Otter Pops. Don’t bug me. I’m workin’ here. My agent is finalizing my contract. I’m gonna need a milkshake selfie to celebrate.”

“I’ll take it and post it for you.” Dimistri eyed the college-aged women at the table in between ours and the boys and added, “Hashtag Trinsky’s milkshake brings the girls to the yard.”

We chuckled, but a minute later, the women descended on our table. It was harmless. The sort of flirtatious fan moment we dealt with regularly. These women weren’t locals, though, and they were very…enthusiastic.

“Can we bother you for a selfie?” A pretty brunet with a low-cut sundress put her hand on Trinsky’s arm.

“Yeah, no problem.” He stood and posed for a few pictures.