He applauds us every time we score on him, knowing that we’re pushing him to be better and better, just like he’s doing for us.
We all set back up at center ice for face-off, and as I bend at my knees and hips, leaning forward and down, the air shifts.
A humming sounds in my ears, and the hairs on the back of my sweat-soaked neck stands on end.
I’m being watched.
The puck drops to the ice, and I sweep it behind me to one of our defensemen, Emil Barkov. Only when the puck is secured on his stick do I glance up and over at the bench.
Standing at Coach Rafferty’s side is the culprit, eyeing me questioningly, carefully. Her dark auburn hair is pulled up into a tight, high ponytail, slicked back without a hair out of place.
She’s never looked like a coach’s kid, not until now. But I can see the way she’s analyzing us, the same way Coach does, and I’m sure he’s taught her just what to look for.
Her usual soft beauty seems sharp now, her jaw tight, arms crossed, and lips sealed—-a drastic difference from how she looked a few nights ago with her chest rising and falling, lips parted with anticipation.
I love seeing new sides of her, and this is one that hasn’t come out to play until now.
Emil is feet in front of me. He passes it off to Kol. I move through the motions, skating toward the blue line without tearing my gaze from hers.
She blinks slowly, her head tilted to the side. Does she recognize me somehow?
Coach shouts something but I don’t hear a word.
There’s absolutely no way she knows I’m the one stalking her. No, I think she’s feeling the same thing she did that night at the dinner. She’s attracted to me and convincing herself she’s not. That shecan’tbecause of who she is and who I play for.
It’s okay, baby; I’ll resolve that problem soon enough.
Her gaze travels in front of me, and I follow it, refocusing on the puck and task at hand. What does she think of our team? Of me? Do I live up to my reputation?
Maybe I should give her something to be impressed by.
Kol sends the puck over to me, drawing the defenders as he gets into position near the wall. I pass it back to him and he brings it into the zone. I skate into the left wing, Cas into the right. Defenders Emil and Rurik Barkov—brothers—are positioned at our rear, guarding the inside of the blue line.
Kol passes it to me, and the opponents shift in response. I pass it up to Rurik, who continues it to the other side. To Emil and then to Cas. Kol has skated behind the net, but the opening he’s hoping for isn’t there, so he moves toward me, and I adjust, shifting toward our defensemen.
My body reacts before my mind can fully comprehend the action, knowing where the play is waiting to unfold, and I make it happen.
I flick the puck through two of their players’ legs, and it lands perfectly on Cas’s stick. The defenders can’tcorrect themselves in time before Cas flicks his wrist, drilling the puck into the top-left corner of the net, right over the goalie’s shoulder.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout at him, skating his way. “That was sick!”
“Good, Casy,” Emil praises him, his Russian accent thick as he nods his head in respect.
“It was one hell of a shot,” Kol agrees, patting Cas on the back.
Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of the short scrimmage, which means the end of practice. We skate over to the bench to grab some water while he wraps up.
I can feel her eyes on me nearly the entire time, but I don’t glance her way. We’re less than ten feet apart, and I’m nervous that she’ll be able to read how hungry I am right now for another taste of her. While her dad is speaking to us, all I can think about is where the nearest room or closet is, where I could pull her inside.
Kol nudges my hip, and I pull my gaze from her. Shit, I didn’t even realize I’d been staring at her. When did she steal my gaze without my notice?
Nodding ever so slightly at Kol, I glue my eyes on to Coach Rafferty, having not heard a single word he’s said. But thankfully, seconds later, Kol lifts his hand into the air, and all of us follow suit as he counts us down from three.
In unison, we all shout, “Sinners.”
The wordsinnersfeels accurate, given the deranged thoughts floating through my mind about all the things I want to do to my coach’s daughter right now.
Hockey and Serena are separate in my mind, howeverobviously asinine that may be, considering who she is. But I never expected her to show up at practice. She’s never been to one before. Trust me, I would have definitely noticed had she been.
