Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“Yeah.”
One of our third-line forwards, Jack Randolph, meets my gaze as he skates toward the bench. It’s a signal telling me to take over for him. I climb over the wall and dig in, diving to intercept the puck when it flies my way. Randolph is trying to come back after knee surgery, and so far, the preseason’s been tough for him.
Isaac, our goalie, loses his edge in the third period, causing us to drop the game. A final score of 5–2 is shitty when you’re the team with the two, even in the preseason.
Coach Turner looks somber when he comes into the locker room.
“Doubles starting tomorrow.”
That’s all he says. We all sit like statues, not making a sound as he leaves the locker room for his office. A single groan could turn double practices into something even worse.
Turner is the embodiment of fuck around and find out. Most coaches at the highest level of the game don’t bag skate their guys, which is a grueling punishment that involves skating long and hard enough that people are puking. Turner bag skates us when he thinks we deserve it.
It sucks, but I think he’s right to do it. A complacent coach has complacent players. Complacent teams don’t win championships.
Leo comes over to me and Carter, one towel around his neck and another wrapped around his waist.
“That was ugly,” he says.
“Yeah, no shit.” Carter runs a hand over his face.
“We should come in early tomorrow and drill,” I say.
“Yeah. Good idea.” Carter nods and looks between the two of us. “Six thirty?”
“Yep.” I check the time on my phone.
Shit. It’s after ten thirty p.m. I need to get home and go to bed. Practice starts at eight tomorrow, and instead of going until noon, it’ll go until four. Then there’s a team dinner Carter and Suki are hosting. And then there’s the thing after that, which I’m going to need a few drinks in me to be able to do.
I’ll have to be up at five thirty tomorrow to be on the ice at six thirty. But that’s what a good first line does; we set the tone for our entire team. Almost all of us looked like minor leaguers in that game, and Atlanta’s not even a top team.
The team provides breakfast and lunch on weekdays, so at least I know I can get some protein before practice officially starts tomorrow.
I won’t even be able to see Lainey in passing tomorrow. But she’s meeting me at the team dinner.
She’s going home to Columbus this weekend because her niece, Avana, is turning three. I hate that I have to miss it, but I’ll be traveling with the team. Though I’ve tried to make it obvious I’m interested in her, she doesn’t seem to be getting it.
I was driving to the practice facility a couple of days ago when it finally hit me. She went out on a limb for me. She risked hurt and rejection. I have to do the same. But I’m going to do it on an even bigger scale. And I’m doing it before she goes to Columbus this weekend because she could see Shitty Shane.
It’s not likely, but just in case. It’s been almost a month since they broke up. I’m not taking any chances, though. I’m ready to shoot my shot.
Hopefully it won’t be an air ball, because I’m going to have an audience.
Chapter Sixteen
Lainey
* * *
The smoky, caramelized scent of grilled meat greets me when I walk into Harvest Moon. I’m not letting myself eat it because of my IBS, but I can at least enjoy the smell.
The chicken will be delicious, too. Harry and his team don’t know how to cook anything that’s not delicious.
I went to a downtown Cleveland boutique on my lunch and splurged on an emerald-green strapless dress. It hits just above my knees. I’m wearing a simple black shrug and black sandals with it. It might be the dressiest outfit I own.
Suki told me the women get pretty dressy at this team dinner, and when I see a woman walk by me in a flowy gown, I’m really glad she prepared me.
“Damn.” Bash approaches me, his arms open and his grin wide. “You look incredible, Lane. You’re sexy as hell in that dress.”
My stomach flutters as he embraces me. I haven’t seen him much lately. Tonight, he’s wearing a light-gray suit with a dark-blue dress shirt beneath, the top button of his shirt undone. His wavy dark hair has been tamed into a combed-back style, a stubborn lock of hair falling over his forehead.
He just said I’m sexy. And he smells so good. Also, his muscles. My brain is short-circuiting from sensory overload.
“How was your day?” he murmurs.
“Pretty good.”
His deep laugh sends his warm breath brushing over my ear. “Did I just feel your stomach growling?”