Page 4

Cian

Blair was practically vibrating out of her skin when she returned to the rink. Without a fuss, she handed me a huge coffee cup and bent to pull her skates on.

“Thanks. You didn’t spit in it, did you?” I joked, taking a sip and almost choking on the sweetness. Okay, if she had the same thing as me, it made sense that her nervous system was about to crash. Sending up a prayer for my blood sugar levels, I took a gulp, not willing to piss her off if this was some kind of olive branch.

“I thought about it, but no. Come on. Let’s get this done.”

She slid her cell out of her pocket and affixed it to the selfie stick thing she usually used on the ice. Tapping at the screen, she skated toward the center of the ice, completely absorbed in whatever settings she was playing with. Her confidence on skates was something I knew on the same level I knew when to take the shot during a game and when to go for the assist. It was innate. But as I followed her onto the rink, it occurred to me that she was too good for just a regular skater.

I wondered if she had played in the past. Or maybe did another ice sport like figure skating or something. Maybe I could ask her. It was the kind of thing people did when they were making friends.

“Hey, how did you—”

Blair looked up from her phone. “We’re going to do an easy lap to start. No helmet, just vibing on the skates.”

I nodded, swallowing the question as she returned the gesture and skated backward with her phone trained on me. With the door firmly shut on conversation, I settled into the session and found it was a lot more fun than I’d thought. Blair had no trouble keeping up, even when I pulled an asshole move and started sprinting, just to see what she’d do. It made me think of all those adventurer shows where the host would climb the big dangerous thing and dramatically take all the praise for being fearless when they had a camera crew doing the same exact thing while also making the host look good on camera. That was Blair. A freaking boss. Keeping up while also steadying a camera that would make me look like a star.

By the time Marco Russo, our assistant coach, caught my attention to inform me it was time to start training, I was warm and feeling the good vibes. This was the year. No more bad blood between me and Blair.

“Before you go,” she called, catching the gate behind me. I raised a brow and waited. “There’s a function Friday night. The Aces need a presence there and you’re it.”

I groaned, feeling the happiness drain out of me at the thought of formal suits and ego massaging.

“Surely, there’s someone else…”

“Nope. You’re it, alternate captain. Make sure you get any dry-cleaning that you need done. You have to look your best for the start of season.”

I swiped a hand over my face, hoping that when I met her gaze again, I’d see any hint that she was fucking with me. Nope. Her eyes were steady, content to wait for my agreement while I knew damn well I needed to get my ass to the change rooms.

Did I say she was good at her job? Maybe she was just a hardass.

“Who else is going?”

“Just me. It’s a smaller event, but you still need to be there.”

Only us. What a perfect opportunity to build goodwill.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t so annoyed.

“Okay, we’ll carpool. Send me the details and I’ll pick you up.”

“Wait… what?” Her mouth dropped open as I felt the rightness of the decision settle over me.

“Wear something pretty for me.” I winked as I took off to join my team.

Fine, maybe the last comment had been a jerk move, but if I changed too much, she’d get suspicious about my new decision for us to be besties. It never sat right when someone disliked me, so I was going to change it. Starting now.

Day one of training was hectic. Coach always made a point of pushing us until one of the rookies hurled. This year, it was almost me after the sugary nightmare I’d consumed earlier. Maybe Blair hadn’t spit in it because the drink itself was an act of sabotage.

I sat rink side and peeled my skates off, already thinking of the showers when the devil herself flopped down beside me.

“Hey, I have a questionnaire for you to fill out, but your email address isn’t working. Is it still… sk8godd99 at AOL?”

“Yeah, sorry. I changed it. I’ll give you the new one.” I rubbed the back of my neck, cringing at the email address I’d kept far too long. We had email addresses through the Aces organization, but I never checked it and had tried to make things easier by providing my personal email in my first year. The email I gave her was a new one I’d made with my first name and last name. Like a normal person. And I was equal parts happy and kind of nervous at the evidence of adulthood. Seemed pretty stupid to think like that when I had a million-dollar contract and had lived out of home since going to college, but it was what it was. Blair’s cell rang on the bench beside her, and the look on her face reminded me of how I felt when mine rang sometimes.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, turning her back.

“Hey, Mom, I’m at work at the moment…”

“Duckie! I’m just calling to ask about…” Blair glanced at me and grimaced, stalking away before I could hear more of the conversation. Her family called her Duckie? That was adorable. I tucked that information away for safekeeping and headed for the change rooms, pausing at the sound of my name.

Blair had paused, one hand over her phone like she could keep our interaction quiet from her mother on the other end.

“Can you let them know I’ll be in in a second? I’ll just deal with this quickly.”

I gave her a thumbs up as she returned to her call and continued on my way.

My shirt stuck to me under my gear, the sweat drying in an itchy mess that smelled of salt and musty clothes. My thighs and ass throbbed with a pleasant ache that had been missing from my off-season training. I pushed myself hard, but not first-day-of-training-camp hard. Making a note to buy magnesium at the store on the way home, I found my cubby beside Oscar’s and started to strip off my gear.

The noise in the locker room was about what you’d expect from a group of men over-tired and running on adrenaline and endorphins after a day on the ice. Near deafening. Still, over the dull roar, one voice still managed to edge the others out.

Chet Doyle.

The asshole had an opinion on everything and a belief that every person in his vicinity was aching to know what those opinions were.

We didn’t.

We really didn’t.

His braying laugh cut through the room and, if the flush on the back of Stryker Bell’s neck was anything to go by, he’d just said something highly offensive to amuse himself.

The openly bisexual winger was a frequent target of Doyle’s ‘jokes’ and a quick glance at Oscar told me he was ready to throw down for his line mate. Neither of us had time for Chet’s bullshit.

“Give it a rest,” I drawled before Oscar got any ideas.

“Ah, decided to join us, did you, O’Leary?” Doyle pushed to his feet and strode into the middle of the room like he was ready to hold court or some shit. “Thought you were busy with the hot mess social media bitch.”

“You mean the hot mess that’s so talented she can make even you look good? Nah, we’re finished for now.”

I slipped off my jersey and started shedding padding, hoping he’d leave it at that.

“I always look good. Which is more than I can say for her. Why are you sniffing around that, anyway? Thinking of making her your charity fuck for the season?” Someone on the other side of the locker room made an attempt to shut him up, but he had hooked in with a tenacity that was great on the ice, and fucking annoying anywhere else.

“Is it the dog face? Or the red hair? I know they say redheads are great in the sack, but have some dignity, man.”

Normally, I would have ignored Chet until he lost interest, but Blair was due to walk through the double doors behind the loudmouth any second, and she didn’t need to hear him wasting oxygen about this shit.

“I’m not trying to nail her, okay? Just doing my job.”

Doyle’s mouth quirked in a nasty way that told me things were about to get worse.

“Is that because you can’t? Yeah, that’s it. She’s turned you down.”

“No.”

“One hundred bucks says you can’t bang her before playoffs.”

The locker room was oddly quiet, and I wished someone would do something to take the attention off the train wreck I seemed to be in.

“I’m not making a bet to bang someone. It’s juvenile and really fucking disrespectful.”

Chet scoffed. “Fucking doesn’t need to be disrespectful. Hell, her body seems half decent under all the shitty fashion choices. Put a paper bag over her head and put her on her knees.”

“Fuck off, Doyle.”

“Seriously. Maybe getting laid will be good for you. Practice on her and build your game for the bunnies.” He cocked his head in faux sympathy. “Have you forgotten how it all works?”

My grip tightened on the skates I was returning to their spot in my cubby.

I certainly wasn’t considering using them to shut up my teammate. Noooooo. Not at all.

Out in the hall, a feminine laugh echoed far too closely to the locker room doors.

“Leave it. She’s just outside.”

He held his arms wide, turning to take in the rest of the team as they all sat around with varying degrees of dislike on their faces. “Maybe she deserves to know the truth. That she can’t even get laid when there’s money on the table.” The sneer that lifted his lip turned the asshole into something as ugly as his words. As he spoke, he increased his volume until I was sure Blair could hear every word.

“She should know that the great Cian O’Leary would rather abstain from sex and give me money to—”

The door cracked open.

“Fuck, alright fine. Just shut up.”

Satisfied that he’d won this round, Doyle turned toward the doorway.

“Oh, hi Blair,” he said with a smug grin.

“Ahhh, hi, Chet. How’s it going?” she asked, noting how every set of eyes in the room was trained on her.

“Is everything alright, guys?” As though the room had taken a collective inhale, chatter returned in a rush, and I flopped on the bench in front of my locker, surreptitiously watching Blair for any sign she may have heard the previous discussion.

“That was a bad idea, man,” Oscar whispered, whipping a towel around his hips.

“Like I had a choice. I couldn’t let her hear that,” I grumbled.

The look he gave me warned I may still have chosen the worst of the two options.

I hoped he wasn’t right.