If he misses this fucking shot it’ll absolutely be blamed on the fact I’m wearing a Raccoon’s shirt for the first time ever in the Trash Can.
Not only do I suck in a sharp breath and hold it—not like the romance novels where people let go of breaths they didn’t knowthey were holding—I feel this burn in my chest with every single second that ticks slowly by as Tate approaches the net.
When he flicks his wrist, I grab the hands, legs, whatever body part is next to me, and squeeze.
As soon as it passes the goalkeeper’s glove I’m on my feet and screaming before the goal lamp even lights up.
Tate turns to me and points his stick in my direction before his teammates jump on his back and envelop him in a massive group hug.
His victory skate passes right in front of where I’m sitting, and he rat-tat-tats his stick on the glass as he sails back toward the bench.
When the furore has died down and play is about to restart, the woman behind Edith speaks up again. “Girl, if you don’t want him, can I have him?”
CHAPTER 43
Tate
All I want to do is fuck my girl raw, but everyone and their grandmother wants to talk to me post-game.
“Do you know you have glitter on your face?” Rico points his stick at my face as we step out of the locker room together.
Not even sweating my balls off during a game, and a post-game shower is enough to conquer the fucking glitter that still lingers in the very air of my dorm room. “I cleared out my dorm room this morning after practice. Moving into the hockey house full-time. Penelope sent me a glitter bomb a while back, it gets fucking everywhere.” Good luck to whoever gets that room next, there’s no escaping the sparkle.
He nods like he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “No shit. You’re so pretty when you shimmer.”
“I’d punch you, but Penelope says I can’t do that anymore.”
Dunno what voodoo Rico and Mikko have worked on my girl, but over the past few weeks with various team members bringing food out to my folk’s house and sitting with us a couple hours after dinner, she’s grown to like them. All of them.
Shouldn’t be surprised, she’s a social butterfly, but Rico and Mikko... after that whole fat-shaming my woman thing, I dunno.Sometimes I still envision ripping their heads off. To this day, she still hasn’t told me which one of the comedic rookie duo said something to her, which instead of making me want to kill zero teammates, makes me want to kill both of them—in spite of the fact theybothapologized to her.
She’s forgiven them. Not sure if it’s because that’s her easy going nature, forgive and forget. Or if it’s because she’s suffered so much judgment at the hands of skinny people that she just lets bygones be bygones and tries to let their insults roll off her like water off a duck’s back.
Either way, she’s forgiven them, but I can’t forget.
“Tate, my good man.” Marshall Bryant from Rock108, Eastern Iowa’s rock station steps into my path, hand outstretched.
It’s not the norm for him to be here in an official capacity. He does the morning show, and while he could do post-game interviews, he’s not one of the usual suspects to come down into the locker room for a Q-and-A sesh.
He’s sporting a Raccoons’ shirt, but his press pass dangles around his neck. “I wanted to pass along my condolences.”
I accept his hand and give it a firm shake. “Thank you.”
He turns to leave.
“Is that it? No questions.”
He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “Poor taste, no?”
This guy is all class. He’s never been one to insert himself into our space, and all the guys like him.
As much as I want to go bang my girl, I also want to talk to Marshall if he wants to talk to me.
“Is it poor taste if I offer a quick interview?”
His eyes light up. “If you’re sure? I don’t want to push if you’re not ready to talk about... everything.”
I’m not sure whether I’m ready or not, but he’s here, and I’m here. And there’s a media booth not too far away from either of us, so we head that way to have a quick chat for Marshall to air in the morning during his show.
