ONE
CJ
The thingabout bets is that they always sound like a good idea in the moment.
Especially when you’re me.
CJ Morgan.Goalie for the Maple Creek Thunder.King of the crease.Patron saint of pranks and poor decisions.
I live for the thrill, the laugh, the cheer, the roar from the guys when I pull something stupid but glorious.My philosophy has always been simple: keep it light.Don’t get too serious, because serious means pressure, pressure means expectations, and expectations?They crush you.
But today… today, I might’ve gone a little too far.
“A hundred bucks says you can’t chug it,” Ryder challenges, sliding the protein shake across the locker room bench toward me.
The smell hits me before the bottle even stops rolling.Milk, old bananas, what looks like Pop Rocks, and—what the hell?—maybe tuna?Someone’s blended a nightmare.
I eye it, my grin already forming.“That’s it?A hundred bucks?”
Ryder smirks.“And bragging rights.”
I tip my head toward Logan Carter, our oh-so-broody captain, who’s pulling his jersey over his head like he’s allergic to fun.“What do you think, Cap?Worth the risk?”
He doesn’t even look at me.“Don’t.”
Which, obviously, makes me want to do it more.
Declan Hayes chuckles from his spot, lacing up his skates.“You’re going to regret it.”
“Regret?”I grin wider.“Never heard of her.”
The guys hoot as I snatch the bottle, pop the lid, and down the whole thing in one go.It’s warm, lumpy, and tastes like death on a summer sidewalk.I gag halfway through, my eyes watering, but I finish it, slamming the bottle down like I just won the Stanley Cup.
“Boom,” I declare, arms spread wide.“Pay up, Mercer.”
Jake Mercer, our rookie forward, looks both impressed and horrified.“You’re insane.”
“Insanely awesome,” I correct.“And you all doubted me.”
CJ: 1, Sanity: 0.
The locker room erupts with laughter, half of them cheering, half of them dry-heaving in sympathy.
And then, because the universe loves me, our coach walks in.
The laughter dies faster than a bad Tinder date.
Coach Pearson stops dead in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene.Me standing triumphant with an empty bottle of what can only be described as biological warfare, and the guys trying not to choke on their amusement.
His gaze zeroes in on me.“Morgan.”
I grin, like that’s going to help.“Hey, Coach.Just… uh… working on my endurance?”
The silence is deafening.
Logan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s got a migraine.
Coach’s jaw ticks.“My office.Now.”
