Anticipate.
It’s what I always do.
You don’t chase the puck. You chase intention. You read hips. Shoulders. Eyes. Where weight shifts a fraction too early, so you know where they’re going, and if you know that… you can guess what they’re going to do.
We finish with quick shooting reps. I send a few wristers from the point, more to test lanes than to score. It’s rebound control for our goalie because he needs his practice, too. Blocking shots isn’t always easy, and each one has their weak points.
Sweat gathers at the back of my neck, but my breathing is steady. Controlled. My body feels good. Relaxed. Fully worked out. It’s a reminder of last night, and a quick thought of what Nico is doing right now.
I glance up at the empty stands without meaning to.
Tomorrow, they won’t be empty.
Tomorrow, I’ll know exactly where to look.
I push off toward the bench when Coach blows the whistle.
Practice ends the way it always does—sticks tapping boards, a few jokes tossed around, someone complaining about the smell in the locker room.
Routine, even with unfamiliar teammates. We’re making it work. We’re going to win this.
“You get a good night’s sleep last night or what?” Connor asks, slapping me on the back.
“What do you mean?” I ask as I unlace my skates.
“You’re fire out there. Sharper than usual.”
I shrug. “Guess so, then.”
It’s not that I want to keep Nico a secret, but I don’t need to gossip about what we’re doing. Connor wouldn’t tell anyone, but I still don’t need to share. There’s no need for him to know.
“How was your night?” I ask. “You’re looking a little tired.”
“Didn’t sleep great,” he says, pulling off his jersey. “Richtor had me up all night. Wouldn’t shut up!” He calls out the last partloud enough that Richtor, who is across the room, looks up and laughs.
Richtor is another one of our teammates back home. Three Diamonds on the same Olympic team. Connor and I are good friends because we play together on the ice, but he and Richtor have a different kind of friendship. Something like brothers. They hang out a lot when we travel and even at home. Connor gets his social side out with Richtor while his chill side is saved for me. I’m not the partying type, and those two like to party sometimes.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Connor asks. “You going to the figure skating performance?” He waggles his brows.
“Yes.”
“Cool. Me too.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I got tickets last minute. You wanna grab lunch with us and then we can head over?”
“Sounds good.”
He goes to the showers, and I finish getting my gear off before doing the same. Connor has shown a lot of interest in watching the other athletes, but figure skating? Didn’t think he’d make this a priority.
When I check my phone, I see one text from Nico. I open it, and bite back the groan. It’s a photo of his hard dick, covered by his sweatpants. The text tells me he’s thinking about me. I smirk as I head to the bathroom and take a selfie with my shirt off and send it back.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me last night, like I was something special. The way he ran his hands down my body like somehow, to him, I was perfect.
That sort of feeling is addicting.
And also a little scary.
