Hoskins muttered something I didn’t catch, and he was hot on Brown’s heels. Nix wasn’t far behind. Coach just chuckled, refilled his coffee, and left.
Vasily and I got up too, but we weren’t in quite as much of a hurry as our teammates. Though when I realized I was alone with him—fuck, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to bolt for the door or plant my feet and see how this played out.
Howwhatplays out, dumbass? Don’t be stupid.
Vasily pocketed his phone and sighed. “I should go.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I didn’t even ask myself why I was so disappointed. I knew damn well why. As we started for the door, I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the scrum of butterflies in my stomach. “Ready for your first game with us?”
Vasily’s smile did nothing to calm those butterflies. “I miss playing. Haven’t played a game in months.” He nodded sharply. “I was ready long before the doctors said I was.”
I chuckled. “Isn’t every hockey player ready? If we’re conscious, we’re ready.”
“Shame about those asshole doctors who won’t let us.”
“I know, right? Dicks.”
We both laughed and headed down the hallway toward the parking lot. Outside, he stopped by a silver Porsche.
“I’ll see you tonight.” He flashed that disarming smile again. “Let’s win this one.”
“Let’s win all of them.”
He quirked his lips, then gave a little nod. “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.”
We exchanged smiles, and I hurried toward my car before I could think too hard about why my stomach was fluttering. I was stupid, that was why. Good lord.
In my car, I started the engine but didn’t pull out of my space yet. I watched Vasily’s Porsche roll out of the lot, and as soon as he was out of sight, I exhaled hard. I still didn’t move, though.
I held the wheel in both hands and stared out the windshield. Vasily was ready for this game. No one could possibly doubt that.
WasIready, though?
Ready to play hockey alongside him? Ready to pretend he wasn’t distraction on ice, and maybe not lose an edge because I was checking him out again?
I guess we’d find out tonight.
CHAPTER 6
VASILY
Tonight was the night—my first game since I was injured.
It was only a PHL game, but it was still a hockey game. After all these weeks of itching to play again, I’d take it.
Coach Marks wanted me on the top line, which was where I’d be for most of my stint in Everett, but he was still keeping me on the third tonight. I was fine with that.
Or, well, I thought I was.
When we were almost to the end of the first period and I’d had less than ninety seconds of ice time—fuck, I was even twitchier than I’d been when I couldn’t play at all. Ihatedbeing on the bench.
It didn’t help that tonight’s top line wasn’t having a good game. Almost every pass attempt ended up being a turnover. Four separate scoring chances had turned into such huge blunders that they very nearly became goals against. And that was to say nothing of the three—three—breakaways thatdidresult in goals against.
After a disastrous turnover resulted in a shot on goal—but thanks to Hoskins, not a shotingoal—I turned a pleading lookon Coach. He met my gaze, his frustration evident in his eyes and in the way he chewed his gum like it owed him money.
I didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
But he did send my line out next, and though we didn’t score, we kept the action in our offensive zone for the whole shift. Fewer opportunities to score against us. A chance for Hoskins to take a much-needed breather. We were still down 3-0, but it was only the first period. We had time to tilt the ice. Right now, we just had to get to the buzzer, then regroup in the locker room.
