Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“You went down hard.” Her cringe says it all.
I push into a sitting position. I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie, no gear, so I was without padding to soften the fall. “I’m really okay.”
I’ve taken plenty of hits on the ice, but nothing decimates an ego quite like tripping over my own fucking feet in front of the girl I like. I booked private ice time to break out of my hockey funk.
“Why are you practicing on your own?” Fee asks as I get to my feet.
Beyond this arrangement, Fee is also my friend. If I can be honest with anyone, it’s her. “I’m trying to turn my season around.”
She nods slowly. “So you booked extra ice time.”
“Yeah.” I rub my bottom lip.
“Why not ask Brody or Gage to practice with you?” she asks. “I’m sure they’d be happy to get out here with you.”
“They would, but—” I blow out a breath. “—everyone’s always on Brody about his brother and his connections and I don’t want to be one of those people for him.”
She tips her head. “You’re his roommate, though.”
“Still feels like taking advantage, you know?”
Her expression shifts to empathy. “Unfortunately, I do, but he’s your teammate and your friend, I don’t think he would see it as you taking advantage.” She motions to the pile of pucks. “You’re closer than you think with your shots on net.”
“I’m missing almost as much as I’m hitting,” I argue.
“Your ratio’s a bit off, you’re two out of three in the net,” she counters.
Fresh embarrassment washes over me. “How long have you been stalking me, Fee?”
She twists a lock of hair around her finger, cheeks turning pink. “For like, fifteen minutes, maybe, and I would call it active observation, not stalking.”
“Hm, convenient that they’re similar but different,” I tease.
Today there’s red paint under her nails and a streak of dark purple in her hair. “You’ve bulked up a lot this year.”
“I’ve been training to put on muscle,” I reply, somewhat defensively.
“I know, the gym selfies on your socials don’t lie.” She gives my biceps a playful squeeze.
“You like my gym selfies?” I press.
“You don’t need me to tell you you’re pretty, Mac. And I can appreciate hard work in all its various forms.” She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I do think all that hard work might actually be what’s throwing your shot off.”
I’m still focused on the fact that she’s been creeping on my social media posts, so it takes a moment for me to dial in. “How do you mean?”
“How much have you gained this season?” Her gaze roams over me on a slow sweep. “Like fifteen pounds? Twenty? All pure muscle?”
“About that, yeah.”
She nods in contemplation. “So maybe it’s thrown your center of gravity off. Like Callie had a wicked growth spurt this year and it threw stuff off for her. Maybe it’s the same for you, and it’s changed the way you’re moving on the ice? I’m no coach, but I’ve spent an exceptional amount of time in arenas watching other people play and coach. Maybe I can be helpful?”
Fee might not play hockey, but she’s grown up surrounded by players. Still… “I don’t want to take advantage.”
“I’m the one who stalked you into the rink, Mac. I’m offering, so there’s no taking advantage here,” she assures me.
“Okay. It’s worth a shot.” And I get to spend time with her, it’s a double win.
Fee’s whole face lights up. “Great!”
“I love that smile.”
She pushes on my shoulder. “Oh my God, stop.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Seriously, Fee. I vow to make you smile like that as often as possible.”
“More hockey, less flirting.” She points to the cones I set up, but she’s still smiling. “Show me the moves that make all the girls wild for you.”
“Your wish, my command.” I bow as I skate backwards to the pile of pucks.
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but that smile remains.
I hook a puck with my blade and move into position, passing it back and forth as I skate around the cones, then break into a sprint before I pivot and slap the puck. It ricochets off the bar, just an inch shy of going in.
“Okay. Stay there!” Fee calls out.
“What? No heckling?”
“You’re already up in your head enough as it is.” She skids her way to the pile of pucks, gathers a handful and slides over to me, dropping them at my feet. “We’re going to work on your form and your shot before you skate the cones again.”
I smirk. “You’re the boss, Coach.”
She pokes my cheek. “Put your dimple away.”
I gaze down at her, loving the easy banter. “What’s wrong with my dimple?”
“It’s distracting.” She eyes my cheek with irritation.
“Why? And why do you look mad about it?” I press.
“Focus, Mac.” She snaps her fingers and points to the pucks in front of me.