Page 95 of Puck Me Back to Life

Sex.

Fun.

No expectations.

No complications.

No emotional entanglements.

Instead, I've somehow reached the point where watching him laugh during practice improves my entire day.

That's not ideal.

The puck drops again. This time I end up directly across from him.

Kai’s eyebrows lift. I grin. The challenge is obvious.

Good.

The play develops quickly. A pass reaches him near the blue line.

He turns up ice. I angle toward him. For a second, neither of us commits. Then he tries to slip past me.

Cute.

I step into his lane and separate him from the puck with a clean shoulder check. Nothing hard.

Kai stumbles two steps. The puck slides free. I collect it. The second I turn around, he's laughing.

“Really?”

I skate backward. “Skill issue.”

His glare lacks any real heat. “You're so annoying.”

“Correct.”

The grin he gives me in response nearly knocks me off balance. For a brief second, I'm no longer standing on NHL ice. I'm seventeen again. Playing pickup hockey with friends after school. Talking shit. Laughing. Competing because it's fun. The realization hits unexpectedly.

Somewhere along the way, hockey became work. Business. Playing against Kai feels different. It feels like hockey again. That thought stays with me for the rest of the scrimmage.

By the end of practice, his team wins. Mostly because Dante accidentally has the game of his life. The man celebrates like he personally won the Stanley Cup.

The rest of the team gathers around center ice while coaches wrap things up. I barely hear half of what Coach says. My attention keeps drifting toward Kai. He looks almost embarrassed by the congratulations.

Teammates tap his helmet. Tell him he had a good practice. Every compliment makes him look increasingly uncomfortable.

Watching him accept praise is like watching somebody attempt to pet a stray cat. Everything about him seems convinced he should run away. Yet he remains where he is. Awkward and quiet. Trying very hard not to smile.

The sight makes my chest feel strangely warm.

Coach finally dismisses us. The team breaks apart immediately. Some players head toward the showers. Others make a beeline for the gym. A few linger near the exits.

I grab my water bottle and start toward the locker room with Dante. A moment later, Kai falls into step beside me.

The three of us make our way down the hallway together while Dante explains a story that somehow involves a broken lawn chair, two Labradors, and a minor argument with his landlord. I'm not entirely convinced any of it actually happened. Kai seems equally skeptical. Unfortunately, Dante never requires evidence. Only enthusiasm. And he has plenty of that.

The walk back to the locker room is loud, mostly because Dante refuses to let silence exist for more than three consecutive seconds.