“And still lying.” He shifts to stand. “What’s going on?”
Before I can come up with a deflection, Eli claps past us, helmet under his arm, grin easy. My stomach knots. If he knew what his sister had been texting me, he’d bury me six feet under center ice.
Reid’s brow arches, reading what I won’t say out loud. “Mmm,” he hums, just low enough for me to hear. “You’re still fucked, too. Especially if she keeps carpet-bombing your notifications.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, shoving my bag deeper into my locker and tugging my gloves on.
He doesn’t look up, just slices through the tape with his teeth. “Just saying—hard to hide a detonation when your face does half the talking.” His eyes glance toward the far side of the locker room. Eli’s laughing at something Jake said, oblivious.
I rip at my pads too fast, the Velcro screaming. Hutch only hums again, dry and knowing, and I grind my teeth, following the rest of the boys out, hoping drills will burn it out of me.
They don’t.
Benson’s on us hard, barking about last season being unacceptable, about needing a sharper edge, a cleaner game. We run sprints, drills, small-area battles until my lungs are fire and my legs shake. But nothing burns Lulu out of me.
The endless drills, the sting of ice against my blades, usually it works. Usually, by the time I peel off my pads, all I want is food, a nap, and video review. Not today. Not when Lulu’s voice is still echoing in my head. Not when the image of her standing there in my hoodie is stamped behind my eyes.
And definitely not when all I hear is my phone buzzing in the back of my head.
By the time skate’s over, and the guys scatter for showers, I cave. Sitting there in my stall, stick between my knees, I check my phone to see she's sent me another couple questions. But my mind is hung up on the one from earlier, so I thumb out a reply to her question about oral. Just one reply.
Me:Depends who you’re asking. Not all guys are assholes about oral.
Which, of course, is a mistake. Because it opens the floodgates.
Lulu:So you’re saying some guys actuallylikeit? Wow
Lulu:Question #14: Are you one of them?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting a groan.
The Rink Rat after practice is as loud as ever—jukebox humming, fryer oil popping, plates clattering. The whole crew’s crammed into a corner booth, Eli across from me, Jake and Chase shoulder to shoulder beside him. Reid’s next to me, because of course he is, arms crossed, eyes flat like he’s watching a slow-motion car crash.
I try to focus on my soda and burger. On Hutch telling some story about his grandpa’s cat. On anything but the phone in my lap that won’t quit lighting up.
Lulu:Question #15: What’s the actual point of dirty talk? Is it really that sexy?
Lulu:Question #16: Where does a guy like to be kissed first?
My pulse jumps.
“Who keeps blowing you up?” Eli asks, leaning to catch a glimpse of my screen.
I snap the phone face down on the table so fast my wrist cracks. “No one.”
Reid’s mouth twitches like he’s swallowing a laugh. “Looks like someone.”
“Drop it,” I mutter, but my ears are hot, my skin crawling.
Banter swells around us—Hutch chirping Chase about Zoe, Eli calling for another round—but I’m barely there. I sneak a look under the table, thumb moving before I can think better of it.
Me:Jaw. Always jaw.
Her reply comes instantly.
Lulu:Noted. Very thorough of you, Coach.
I scrub a hand over my face, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching upward.
