“Very funny.” I glare at them before muttering, “I hate all of you.”
Cole grins. “No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, that’s true.
But I should hate them.
I toss my bag into my stall and start gearing up while trying to ignore the idiots surrounding me.
That lasts approximately twelve seconds.
“Did you practice that line beforehand?” Connor asks.
“What line?”
Connor deepens his voice dramatically.“‘She’s with me.’”
The entire locker room erupts while I contemplate murder.
Ford sits beside me, calmly tying his skates. “To be fair, it was objectively romantic.”
I raise my brows. “Objectively romantic?”
He shrugs. “Harper expands my vocabulary.”
I shake my head, staring at my locker, wondering if I can climb inside. “It wasn’t romantic.”
“It sounded pretty romantic,” Jake argues. “I watched it.”
Cole nods solemnly. “Honestly, I ovulated a little.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ford mutters.
The locker room door opens again before I can respond. Coach Decker walks in. Instantly, the room goes silent.
That’s the effect he has.
Blunt. Mean. Former enforcer energy.
Allegedly, the man once got suspended for breaking somebody’s nose with a hockey stick.
His eyes sweep the room once before landing directly on me. “Well,” he says dryly. “Nice to know our goalie finally discovered women.”
The room explodes again. Even Ford laughs.
Traitorous bastards.
“Coach,” I warn.
Decker smirks slightly. “Relax, Guyer. Word of advice, though: stop glaring at reporters like you’re planning a homicide.”
Connor points dramatically. “He looked like he was.”
“I hate this team.”
“You ARE this team,” Jake reminds me.
Coach claps loudly once. “Enough. Gear up. New blood’s joining us this season, and if any of you embarrass me today, I’ll bag skate you until you cry.”
