I still do not know what Sage's deal is. She is clearly an Omega, but she carries herself with the swagger of an Alpha who grew up fighting for every scrap. The biggest tomboy I have ever encountered. And that Jace guy is not around today, which means it is just Mae and her feral little sidekick.
"LISTEN UP!" Coach Mercer's voice snaps my attention back. "Strategy time. You lot are moving too damn slow. Every single one of you is skating like you got anchors strapped to your asses. The rookie team just embarrassed you, and they have been on the ice for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. You have years of experience and you are getting outplayed by children."
Dillon raises his hand.
"In our defense, Coach, our cocks are heavy to carry. Just like these damn mouth guards. Lot of weight distribution issues happening."
The guys erupt in laughter, elbowing each other and adding their own crude commentary. Coach Mercer rolls his eyes with the weariness of a man who chose this career path and regrets it daily.
"Real funny. Hilarious. You are all comedians. Maybe you should form a stand-up team instead of a hockey team since you are clearly more talented at making jokes than scoring goals."
The laughter dies down, but the grins remain.
I tune out the rest of the strategy talk, my eyes drifting back toward the rink's edge.
Etienne is no longer at the goal post.
He has skated to the side boards, his helmet tucked under one arm, his dark curls matted with sweat. He is leaning against the railing, talking with Mabeline, who is on the other side withher hands resting on the ledge as she points at the far half of the rink and explains what sounds like positioning. Her head tilts, her brow furrows, and she moves her hands like she is drawing invisible diagrams in the air while Etienne nods along with the focused attention of someone receiving sacred instruction.
A sour taste fills my mouth.
There it is again. That feeling. That gnawing, acidic thing that coils in my gut every time I see the two of them together.
Jealousy.
No. It is not jealousy. It cannot be jealousy because jealousy requires wanting what someone else has, and I do not want Mabeline Mae Rose. She is a temporary roommate with an ancient phone, a dead bag, and the audacity to kick me in the balls. She is not a threat. She is not competition. She is nothing to me.
I can get whoever I want. Vanessa throws herself at me daily. Half the Omegas in this school would line up if I showed the slightest interest. I am the captain. The top prospect. The fucking alpha of Alphas on this team.
So why does watching Etienne smile at her make my blood boil?
As if the universe heard my internal monologue and decided to punish me for my arrogance, a high-pitched squeal erupts from the entrance.
Vanessa and her entourage descend upon the rink like a flock of designer-clad birds, their excited chatter bouncing off every surface. They are in figure skating attire, leotards and warm-up jackets and skirts that are more decorative than functional, their hair pulled into tight buns that make their faces look even more angular and predatory.
"Oh my god, the boys are practicing!" Vanessa squeals, clutching her friend's arm. "Kyle! Kyle, look! They are so sweaty!"
More than one guy on my team groans audibly.
"Aye, Beaumont!" Dillon calls out with a shit-eating grin. "Go get your puck girl!"
The team dissolves into laughter. I resist the urge to crosscheck Dillon into the boards.
"Y'all can kiss my ass," I mutter, skating toward the bench for water.
Coach Mercer checks his watch.
"Fifteen-minute break! After that, free reign on the ice. Work on whatever you need. And for the love of God, fix your formations before the first game or I am benching every single one of you."
The team disperses, some heading for the bench, others doing lazy laps to cool down. I grab my water bottle and take a long pull, trying to focus on hydration instead of the vanilla sugar scent that has somehow reached me from across the entire rink.
How the fuck does her scent travel that far? We are in a freezing arena and I can still smell her like she is standing right next to me. Vanilla and frosted roses cutting through the ice and the sweat and the industrial cold like it is nothing.
Vanessa appears at my side before I can escape, her skates carrying her across the remaining distance with alarming speed. She crashes into me, her hands gripping my jersey, her jasmine perfume invading my nostrils with an intensity that makes me wince.
"Oh my god, babe! Are we going out tonight? There is this new lounge that just opened and everyone is going and it would be so fun if you came and we could sit in the VIP section because Kyle knows the bouncer and..."
"No." I peel her fingers off my jersey. "I have got plans."
