* * *
“Well, if it isn’t Nasty Nazarov! Finally decided to show your face, huh?”
I took a seat in the first row, in front of Foley, who was laying out the red carpet of welcome. Trip someone a couple of times during World Juniors and earn a stupid nickname. But as Russia won and Canada—Foley’s home nation—did not, then I was not too concerned.
“My flight was delayed,” I said, not that I owed anyone here an explanation. But I did not enjoy rolling up late, looking like a diva, especially when I had an uphill battle for acceptance on this team. Playing for the University of Michigan had been a dream of mine, and coming in for my last year after three at UConn meant that I got to work with Coach Starkey, the reason I made it to the US in the first place. He had recruited me at World Juniors when he was the assistant coach in Connecticut. But then he moved to Michigan and I had been working my way toward this spot ever since.
Usually, we would be sitting on the bench, waiting for instructions for drills from Coach. Right now, there was no sign of him and no sign of us getting on the ice, either, which was currently occupied.
I felt a nudge in my ribs. I turned to a big smile and a set of sparkling green eyes.
“Hey, Nazarov. I’m Isner.”
Jason Isner, to be precise, an excellent defenseman. We had played against each other, both at NCAA level and in the international arena.
“Yes, Isner, I have heard of you. You are much better than Foley.” I raised my voice at the end of that sentence.
“Fuck you, Nazarov,” Foley hissed in my ear. “Humped any hockey sticks lately?”
I once told an interviewer I had slept with my hockey stick as a child to develop muscle memory for my grip.
Isner grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Makin’ friends. Good work.”
I smirked. This Isner was okay.
He leaned in and kept his voice low. “Sorry about your mom.”
So the news of my mother’s death had preceded me. I did not want any special treatment, but it was probably good to get it out of the way. I nodded my appreciation of his kind words.
“Where is Coach?”
“He had to deal with some drama. One of the rookies was throwing up after a bender and had to be taken to the medic. Plus …” He gestured at the rink. “The girls are running over.”
I took a closer look. They were currently performing skate and shoot drills. This was not usually worthy of my attention, except one of the players took an interesting approach. Instead of meeting the puck and immediately shooting, she would take it for a brief spin, looking for a different angle. Or feinting, to dupe the tender. On each attempt, she managed to score. First time, top shelf. Second, through the five-hole. Third, straight on goal without the need to play games because the first two shots had done the mind work for her.
Their coach called the skaters over, but this player paid no attention. She preferred to get a few more shots on goal, though no one was in net to block her. She apparently wanted the last word, a sentiment I appreciated.
A couple of the guys on the team were shouting out to the girls on the ice as they received notes from their coach. One of them gave the middle finger to Foley, who was particularly obnoxious, but then she laughed as if this was their standard interaction.
Still, the solo skater remained in the rink. My pulse had picked up. Hard to say why, but I prayed she was plain and of no interest to me.
“She’s good, isn’t she?”
I could have feigned ignorance, but, like the player on the ice, I was not one for games. “You know her?”
“Yeah, since we were twelve. Youth hockey camp.” At least eight years, then. “She was the only girl.”
That did not surprise me. Girls had greater obstacles in hockey.
She skated over to the group, most of whom turned and bumped gloves with her. A leader. Well-liked. Hopefully ugly.
She removed her helmet, and my heart sank with disappointment.
Not ugly in the slightest.
But also, nothing special. Her dark brown hair was damp and wavy, but not particularly lustrous. Her oval-shaped face was red from her exertions. With the amount of padding, I could not tell if she had decent tits or a nice ass. She had little to recommend her other than a good work ethic and no problem scoring goals in an empty net.
Then she looked my way.
