“The show Zoe’s obsessed with,” Chase replies, smug. “She made me watch a couple episodes. It’s trash. Scripted, fake tans, the guys cry more than the girls—”
“Couple episodes?” Jake snorts, cutting him off. “Buddy, you gave me a full recap last week, complete with character arcs.”
Chase scowls. “You’re just jealous you don’t know the difference between loyalty and yacht-party betrayal.”
Ryan, our captain, glides through the neutral zone. “Wait, Tyler actually picked yacht-party girl over Ashley? That was bold!”
“That wasbullshit,” Chase fires back indignantly. “Ashley deserved better.”
Jake wheezes, nearly dropping his stick. “Listen to you. You sound like Charlie when she yells about theGrey’s Anatomymusical episode.”
“Fuck off,” Chase mutters.
“I’m with Walton,” Ryan says. “Ashley got screwed.”
“Yacht-party girl wasn’t even on Tyler’s radar till episode four,” mutters Reid without looking up, tapping his stick in an even rhythm across his crease. Doesn’t matter if we’re having informal skate, practice or an actual game, he has the same crease routine every time he sets a blade on the ice. And he isveryparticular about it.
Eli glides by with a shrug. “Madison’s winning. She’s been playing the long game.”
The boys erupt, jeers bouncing off the glass as they shout over each other about who’s making it to finale week. Apparently, this show is a big deal.
“Please,” Jake says, still laughing. “The only one with a shot is Kelsey, and she hasn’t even—”
“Oh mygod,” Chase crows, pointing his stick at him. “You’re watching it too!”
Jake freezes, then clears his throat. “Charlie had it on in the background, okay? She was crying, and I—fuck, I brought her tissues. I can’t stand it when she cries!”
“Uh-huh,” Eli deadpans. “Background. Crying. Sure.”
I glance over at Reid, who’s still focused on his crease. “You got a fifty on who’s gonna win, Hutchy?”
He stabs his stick into the ice and shakes his head once. “I don’t waste my time on garbage.”
“Right,” Chase says, eyes gleaming. “Then how’d you know yacht-party girl didn’t show up until episode four?”
Reid doesn’t flinch, just takes a long swig from his water bottle, eyes narrowed behind the cage of his helmet. “Because you idiots won’t shut up about it.”
The boys howl, sticks rattling the ice in unison. Jake starts skating circles around the crease, and Chase keeps chirping until Reid finally raises his glove, palm out.
“And,” he adds flatly, “Kelsey won’t make top three. She’s allergic to shellfish, and they foreshadowed it at dinner.”
Suddenly, everyone’s shouting, rapping sticks, and losing their shit.
“Oh no, no,no, Hutchy,” Chase crows, barreling toward the crease. “You’re watching it too, admit it!”
“Stay the fuck out of my crease,” Reid snaps, stick jabbing out to hold him off.
But it’s too late. Jake cuts in from the side, Ryan right behind him, Eli grinning like a maniac as they swarm.
“I just finished my routine!” Reid bellows, trying to fend them off with his blocker while they pile on. “Took me thirty minutes! Thirty! Get out of here!”
Jake hooks him around the middle, Chase makes a grab for his pads, and Ryan slams a glove against the net. Eli’s doubled over laughing as Reid goes down in a tangle of gear and curses.
“Shellfish allergy!” Jake yells triumphantly. “Heknew!”
“Fuck you all!” Reid shouts from the bottom of the dogpile. “I just finished my crease, and now it’s ruined!”
The boys are wheezing, still clambering on top of him. Reid thrashes once, then goes statue-still under the weight of the boys, his voice deadly calm as it floats out.
