Page 6 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

“Uh, Chase? Chase?”

Chase’s gaze snapped to Sammy. Right. He’d been saying something. No idea what, but it definitely had been something.

Sammy peered over his shoulder, spotting Auston and then Chase. His lips curled up in a smile.

Chase fought the urge to knock it off his face.

“You a fan?” Sammy asked, voice light and sugary.

“I mean, he’s a really good player,” Chase said offhandedly, patting himself on the back for concealing the truth, which was that Auston was the best player who had ever lived.

And yes, that included Gayne Wensky, who was, like, practically decrepit now, who gave a shit about him? Sure, he’d gotten like three hundred points in a season, but that was when goalies were practically naked and their primary tactic was ‘standing there.’

“Mmhm,” Sammy hummed like he knew anything at all.

Which he didn’t, because Chase was being totally cool about this.

Chase couldn’t help but find Auston again. The Alpha’s bushy eyebrows were tilted down slightly as he nodded at the guys, clapping shoulders and saying hi.

Chase had the sudden, electrifying realisation that Auston would probably put his hands on him in the next few minutes. Even if it was just a fist bump, it would be contact.

Sammy was still in front of him for some reason, pulling at Chase’s shirt. “You can share my stall during camp.”

Chase pouted. He wanted to share Auston’s stall. Maybe their things would mingle, and the Alpha’s scent would get all over his stuff. Chase wouldn’t be able to smell it, but other people sure would.

His gut clenched at the idea, legs getting a little wobbly. His skin was burning with just the thought of getting marked by Auston in any way.

Fuck, he really needed to get his shit together if he didn’t want to pop a boner in the middle of the locker room. That was not the first impression he wanted to make.

The beginning of camp was always a little brutal. Yeah, they’d all been practising hard during the summer, but the coaches put them through hell to showcase that. After thorough warm-ups, they started with suicides—going up and down and up and down the rink until Chase legitimately thought his legs would just turn to jelly and he’d melt into a puddle.

Every time his muscles even thought of giving up, though, he’d remember that Auston was watching him. Assessing him.

He couldn’t disappoint him.

Obstacle courses were next. They were split into four groups, Chase miraculously in Auston’s. They took turns weaving a puck around blocks and through hoops, ending the drill by scoring into the goal.

Chase fucking aced them. Fumbled the puck a few times, sure, but everybody did.

He grinned as he finished the circuit, eager to see the expression on Auston’s face. Would he be stunned? Impressed?

Turned-on?

He slowed as he caught sight of the Alpha.

Auston wasn’t even looking at him.

He was just staring ahead unseeingly, not paying much attention to the person on the course.

The bubbling in his stomach curdled.

It was fine, though. Auston had been in a million camps. Obviously he wasn’t going to be as excited as Chase.

He’d just have to try harder.

Chase’s body made sense when he played hockey. It was a symphony in perfect sync. Everything aligned, focused, a flow state that caught him in its tide.

He gave in to it, putting every ounce of energy into each task. The coach patted him on the head at the end of practice.