They look at each other before looking at me. “Is this how you stay so calm in the crease?” Cash asks.
I nod, tapping my stick against the left post behind me. “Yes. Because otherwise bickering idiots on the ice would distract me.”
“Are you calling us idiots?” Noah asks.
“Never.” I shake my head, smiling at him. “Not you two.”
“You guys done chatting, or are you going to waste our time all day? I have plans tonight,” Troy says as he skates over, breaking up the conversation.
Looking behind him, the rest of the guys are still standing around. The coaches have their heads buried over an iPad. My guess is they’re reviewing film from our game last night.
It was about as easy a win as we can come by. Atlanta wasn’t prepared for us. With their starting center out for the season with an ACL tear, they were skating from behind all night.
It made for a 5-1 win.
Even so, that’s no reason to ease up on the accelerator. We’ve got a long way to go if we want to make the playoffs this season. We won’t settle for anything less than making it to the playoffs after winning the cup last season.
“Alright men, let’s do a few more drills and then we’ll hit the weight room. Take it easy. I want everyone rested up for tomorrow. Noah,”—Coach Barney glances over at our small group—“see the trainers. I want your knee looked at.”
“Roger that.”
“I thought your knee was feeling better?” Troy asks.
“It’s fine. I wish everyone would stop making such a big deal of it.”
I watch the three of them head back to center ice as the goalie coach skates over to me. “Feeling up for some glove drills?”
“Hit me where it hurts,” I tell him, slinging my helmet back down into place.
It’s one of my least favorite drills, but I can’t tell him that. By the time I’m done with these, I’m exhausted. They work though, so I suck it up, catching each puck with my glove only as they’re fired off toward me.
This is one of the things that made me realize how good I was in high school. I had the hand-eye coordination needed for being an NHL goalie.
It wasn’t something I ever set out to do. But when I started playing pickup games with Noah on his weekends home in college, I couldn’t deny the pull of it. The lure of the game.
My dads enrolled me in the club team in high school, and I haven’t looked back since. Didn’t hurt that it kept people off my back too.
“Alright, Nick. Hit the showers.”
“Thank fuck,” I mutter, skating off the ice as the backup goaltender goes in. I’m not about to argue with him.
“Nick. You looked good out there today.”
“Ms. Hart.”
I draw up short of the tunnel, staring down the team owner’s daughter. Our general manager.
Bexley Hart. She is a force to be reckoned with. Not only is she the only female GM in the league, but she’s also the youngest.
“Please, call me Bexley.”
I give her a shy smile because it’s all I can do to not look like a blubbering idiot. This woman is fucking gorgeous.
Long, dark hair flows down her back over the blazer she’s wearing. Lashes kiss her cheeks. Plump lips begging to be kissed.
Not that I’ve thought about it. Not at all.
“You had some great saves out there.” Bexley leans against the wall, giving me a better view to study her.
