“I’m Brody. It looks like you’ve already made quite a name for yourself on the team so far,” he notes.
“Well, I like to make my presence known,” I explain. I wink for good measure.
Brody just shakes his head, his blonde hair swaying.
“Let’s get started with some basic information and then you can tell me what you would like me to work on after practices or games.” He pulls out a tablet and jots down all of the information I give him. We start with injuries I sustained, any muscle aches I’m facing now, and what my regimen was with my last trainer.
Chapter 3
Nash
The next day, I head to the arena for practice again.
“Did you really fight him?” Talia asks.
Her voice carries through my Jeep as I pull into my parking spot.
“He’s a jackass,” I mumble.
She laughs. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just trying to prove himself,” she offers.
“Yeah, well, I wish he would prove himself on another team,” I jest.
I end the call and get out of my Jeep. Leo is hot. Too hot.
It would be easier if he played for another team. That way, I could ogle him privately and jerk off to his image in the privacy of my own home.
The moment I step onto the ice, the chill seeps into my bones, each exhale crystallizing in the air. Around me, laughter erupts, and teammates slip into warm-ups, but my heart pounds a different rhythm. It's the kind that hitches every time I catch a glimpse of him—the cocky forward who seems to thrive on chaos and taunts me like I’m nothing more than a goal to score against.
As I skate a few laps to get warmed up, the sharp scrape of blades on ice cuts through the din, amplifying my growing anxiety. I keep my gaze locked ahead, focused on the puck, but the tension coiling in my gut pulls my attention back to Leo. He's weaving through the others with that smug grin, brown hair tousled, a shadow of arrogance trailing in his wake, a magnet pulling at my resolve. Each flick of his wrist sends adrenaline coursing through me—agitation rising to a point I can't ignore.
“Think you can actually stop me this time, Nash?” he calls out, voice loud enough for everyone to hear, cutting through the banter of our teammates. I can feel every set of eyes snapping towards us, a pause hanging over the ice like the breath before a storm. I skate a little closer, my heart beating in rhythm with the sharp beat of my pulse.
“Stop the goals or stop the bullshit?” I reply, matching his challenge as my irritation simmers beneath the surface. Laughter bubbles up from our teammates, and I catch a glimpseof approval and amusement flashing in their eyes, adding fuel to the fire licking at my insides.
“Boys, I don’t want a repeat from yesterday,” Coach roars out from the bench.
“I wouldn’t have gotten upset yesterday if you had done your job,” Leo jabs.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I retort. I can’t deny that part of me craves this connection, the chaos weaving around us. It’s raw, alive, and as exhilarating as it is reckless.
“Fuck, Nash and Leo are about to fight again,” Sean yells.
I feel a few of the guys try to intervene, but we are too far gone.
My heart pounds in protest, and my protests are drowned by the raucous laughter from my teammates, who continue to cheer us on.
“Alright, that’s enough!” One of them shouts as they pull Leo to one side while another holds me back, the fun of the moment dissolving into something serious.
Sean skates up to me, looking at me with a strange glance. “I’ve never seen you fight before, and now two fights?”
He’s right, and I have no words for him.
Marcus, our team captain, stops in front of me. “This is not how our team will run,” he roars out. His dark eyes look like storm clouds.
The rest of the practice continues without any further issues. We allow the PR team to capture a few pictures of the new team, we run some more drills, and then the coach calls it for the day.
We all head to the locker room and Coach follows us.
