Page 19

NINETEEN

SAINT

“This is it. Our last practice before opening night. You’ve worked your asses off the last couple of months, and I’m a hundred percent confident that you’re ready to play the best season of your lives.

For a lot of you, they’ll have scouts in the stands, assessing you, watching you work independently and how you work as a team.

This is when you show them the type of player that you are,” Coach Taylor says, glancing around the locker room at all of his players.

He’s a damn good coach, and I’m lucky to have had him as mine for the last two, almost three seasons. He’s the type of guy that leads by example, and because of that, we respect the shit out of him.

Not to mention, he’s a retired goalie for the Blackhawks and is one of the best coaches in the NCAA.

“Our first game is against Shreveport, and you all know how important this game is. It’s going to set the precedent for the entire season, so let’s show up and show them exactly who the hellcats are.”

A series of whoops and whistles ring out around the room, and even I can’t help but grin.

The energy is already charged off the fucking charts, and it’s not even game day yet.

“Get suited up, and I’ll see you on the ice,” Coach says before turning and walking out of the locker room.

I turn to my locker to grab my gloves but first check the notifications on my phone.

I’m surprised as fuck when I see a text from Golden Girl on the screen.

It’s been a few days since the fundraiser event, and it’s been oddly quiet.

She didn’t show up to our ice time on Tuesday.

Part of me wanted to text her and ask her if she’d had enough of our little game, but I figured if that was the case, she’d already be texting me.

Nah, sweet, innocent little Lennon has a fire, and she’s not backing down. She’s not folding.

And there’s also the fact that I shouldn’t be worried about what she’s doing in the first place. It shouldn’t be something that even crosses my mind, yet it has, more times than I can count since I last saw her.

Obviously, because if she… I dunno, got hit by a car or something, then my revenge plan would go down the drain, so I’m going with morbid curiosity.

Lennon: Are you free in… two weeks? I have another event that I need you to come to.

Saint: Depends.

Lennon: On what?

Saint: Do I have to wear that fucking tie?

Lennon: Well, it’s a fundraising gala for my father’s company, so yes, the tie isn’t optional.

Saint: I’m out.

Lennon: Can you not be a pain in my ass for like five seconds? What happened to a deal is a deal??

Saint: Maybe I changed my mind.

I’m bullshitting her just to get her worked up, my favorite extracurricular activity. Well, besides fucking. I might be a dick, but I keep my word.

Lennon: Please do not make me kill you. I don’t think I’ll survive prison.

Saint: Nah, you’re way too high maintenance. Plus, that orange jumpsuit is going to make you look like a fucking traffic cone with your hair.

Lennon: You’re such a dick.

Saint: *shrug emoji* yet… you’re still here.

Lennon: Not by choice. Can you make the event or not? I have to get to class.

Saint: Ask me nicely, and I’ll be your arm candy, Golden Girl.

Bouncing dots appear on the screen, then disappear before reappearing again.

Clearly, she’s typing something, then deleting, and I can’t stop the shit-eating grin on my lips.

Lennon: Will you come to the charity gala, Saint? I will forever be in your debt oh great one.

Saint: You’re missing one important thing.

I can just imagine her face right now, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, smoke nearly coming out of her ears as she plots a thousand ways to off me.

Fuck, I’m getting a hard-on in full uniform right now.

Lennon: What is that?

Saint: Please.

Lennon: God, I hate you so much.

Saint: Remember that saying about hate and lust…

Lennon: I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last person on earth so that is complete bullshit.

Saint: Mmmm. That’s a bet I’d fucking love to take, Golden Girl.

Lennon: *eye roll emoji* Will you PLEASE come to the charity gala.

Saint: I dunno. I’ll think about it.

Tossing my phone onto the shelf in my locker, I grab my stick before adjusting my dick in my pants.

“Who the hell are you texting grinning like that, Devereaux?” Bennett asks from behind me. When I turn to face him, he’s pulling on his goalie suit, wearing a smirk that mirrors mine.

Another one of my teammates, our center, Tyler walks by, slapping me on the ass with the end of his stick. I reach for him, ready to shove mine up his, when he jumps out of reach, waggling his thick, dark brows. “Yeah, Devereaux, who’s flavor of the week? She got a friend?”

“Fuck off. Both of you,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at both of them. “Whoever I’m fucking, or not fucking, is none of your business.”

“C’mon, man, throw a dog a bone. Give us the deets,” Tyler says as he sits down next to Bennett to lace up his skates.

“You’re a fucking dog alright.”

He just smirks, elbowing Bennett in the ribs, which I know he barely fucking feels due to the obscene amount of padding he’s wearing. “I get as much ass as Bennett over here.”

These fucking clowns.

I don’t give a shit about who’s fucking whom.

Look, I don’t get into anyone’s personal life, and I’m sure as shit not getting involved in that. What he chooses to do with his dick is his business.

“Shut the fuck up, Gravois,” Bennett growls, shoving him so hard he tumbles off the bench to the floor, laughing so hard there might be a puddle of piss beneath him when he gets up. “For fuck’s sake, why is everyone so worried about my sex life.”

I shake my head as I make my way to the door, trying to ignore the dipshits I call teammates.

“Yo, wait, Devereaux,” Tyler calls. I turn to look back at him, brow arched. “You wanna go out for beers with us after practice? One last hurrah before the season starts.”

No one on the team knows about my home life, including Coach, and that’s how it’s going to stay. It’s bad enough that people in high school knew that I was piss-poor, always having secondhand hockey gear, shoes, clothes. Whatever I could get my hands on.

Now, I don’t give a fuck, not the way I used to, but I still don’t want people to look at me with pity. I’ve worked my ass off to be here, and the last thing I want is for my teammates to think any differently of me.

Most of the guys already know I’m not a drinker, just by picking it up during the times I have reluctantly agreed to go out with them. I’m not a big party person in general. Never been one for bars, or clubs, or generally anywhere there’s a lot of people in a tight space.

I feel trapped in situations like that, like the walls are closing in around me.

It’s not like I’m a very social person to begin with.

“Nah, I have some shit to take care of after practice. Thanks though,” I say, gaze swinging to Bennett as I give him a nod.

“C’mon, let’s hit the ice,” Bennett says to Tyler and me, brushing past us toward the locker room exit.

Say less.