The potato-dog has company now—a potato-cat and what might be a potato-bird but could also be a potato-airplane. I've created a potato farm.
Petrov skates over during a break, stopping at the boards right below us. He looks up at my banner, head tilted. "This is... interesting choice."
"It's called artistic vision."
"I understand is ugly."
"Hey." I point my marker at him. "Aren't you new here?"
He grins. "You're newer."
"That's—" I stop. "Okay, fair."
He skates away, laughing.
The training session wraps up with a scrimmage that looks more like a demolition derby than hockey, and by the end, everyone looks exhausted.
Leila and I have managed to complete exactly two banners. We were supposed to make six.
"We'll finish the rest later," she says, packing up markers.
"Define 'later.'"
She shrugs. "We'll manage. Somehow."
"Or we could just make these two really big."
"That's... not how banners work."
"It could be. We're innovators."
I'm gathering the glitter—well, attempting to gather the glitter, which is impossible—when I hear skates approaching the boards.
I look up.
Ace is right there, leaning on the boards, helmet off, hair a sweaty mess, face flushed from exertion.
He's never looked hotter.
"How's it going?" he asks, slightly breathless.
My brain has left the building. "Good. Great. Banners. We're making banners. Potatoes and all."
He's looking at my potato farm. "Those are... creative."
"They're dogs."
"Ah." He nods seriously. "I see it now."
Liar.
He's smiling though, a soft smile, and he's close enough that I can see the sweat on his neck, and the way his chest is still rising and falling from the workout.
I want to lick him.
Leila's looking between us with an expression that says she knows exactly what's going on in my head, and I suddenly become very interested in organizing our markers by color.
"I should hit the showers," Ace says, pushing off the boards. "See you at the bar."
