“Always got a smart-ass comment locked and loaded, Ash.” Griffin chuckles again as he walks over to Dean, the two of them turning on their skate guards to leave.
My lips part with a quip at the ready, but I seal them shut, trying not to prove him right … again.
Finishing getting ready, I make my way to the ice to join them, goose bumps breaking across my arms in anticipation.
It doesn’t matter how little time has passed since my last skate; I miss it all the same. I didn’t used to feel this way.
I had quite the love and hate relationship with hockey, growing up. But since my mom’s passing and my dad’s personality replacement, nothing is better than gliding across that smooth surface. It’s like my mind quiets, even if it’s only temporary.
Joining the rest of the guys, I glide onto the ice, my stick finding a loose puck almost instantly. My body works through the muscle memory, dribbling it back and forth.
“Sleeping Beauty’s finally here,” Malik Ravenwell—forward for the Legends and sarcastic asshole—chirps at me, lifting his stick and tapping my upper thigh.
“Fucking dick,” I scold, knowing damn well he missed the target—my cup—on purpose.
But the second time, his aim flies true.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath as my balls retract into my damn stomach.
Dean laughs from the other side of him, not bothering to hide any amusement.
“I should’ve stayed home,” I groan, mindlessly firing the puck toward Finn Rutherford—one of our goalies—positioned in front of the net.
“You’re better than that,” Dean reminds me, dishing his puck toward me.
With my wrist, I glide it back and forth before sinking it in the back of Finny’s net. “Unfortunately.”
Our head coach blows his whistle, and everyone hustles over, ready for his command.
He’s a good coach. Personable but strict. He’s one of the reasons we’ve dominated as of late. I hope he’s the reason we win the championship this year too.
After a quick speech about what we’re doing well and what needs work, he splits us up into two groups for warm-ups. Half of us head to one end for three-on-twos, and the other half to the other end for a different drill.
“So, Malik, how’s your love life going?” I smirk as I pass the puck to him, knowing this will push his buttons. “You and Alora still going strong, or is it time for me to swoop in?”
“Watch yourself, Ash,” he warns me sternly.
“Ooh.” I catch the puck on my stick and fire, missing just wide, and I skate past the net toward the boards. “I’m scared.”
When I turn, my skeleton nearly jumps out of my skin.
Malik’s standing there, smirking at me through his cage mask. “You should be.”
“I should be.” I mock him with a downturned mouth. “But I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that?” He fakes me out, thrusting his face toward me.
My body betrays me, flinching.
“Knew it.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s a body’s natural response to a psychopath.” I roll my eyes, skating around the next group running the play.
“A psychopath?” He cackles and slowly lets his smile fall, his eyes darkening.
“Real funny,” I tease him.
“I know,” he sighs arrogantly. “I’m fucking hilarious.”
