Page 118 of Offside Angle

Jace lets out a loud bark of laughter, but before he can push for more details, Damian’s voice cuts through the room. “Focus up! We’re not done yet.”

I catch Santi’s eye for half a second as we walk out — he’s already positioned behind the glass with his camera — and the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly when he sees me.

Yeah.

I’m definitely still feeling last night.

We’re back out for the second period when Luca decides to open his mouth again. He skates up next to me during a scramble along the boards. “He still has good taste,” he chirps with that same smug little smile from yesterday.

I don’t even hesitate. I smirk, keeping my eyes on the puck as I battle him for position. “Yeah,” I say easily. “That’s why he went home with me last night.”

Luca actually stumbles on his own skates. He twists toward me, eyes wide with genuine shock. “Wait… weren’t you straight?” he blurts out. “I was just messing around.”

I push off the boards and start skating toward our bench as the whistle blows for a line change. “Keep up, Moreau,” I call over my shoulder, then throw him a wink before hopping the boards.

I drop onto the bench, breathing hard but still riding that high. Damian shoots me a look from a few feet away — the kind that says really? — but then the corner of his mouth twitches. He shakes his head once, almost fondly, before turning back to the ice and immediately going back to yelling at Jace and Nico.

Every shift, every time we pass each other on the ice, he finds a way to get a jab in. He’s smart about it — doesn’t bring up Santi again. Instead, he goes straight for the new territory he accidentally uncovered.

“Bet you’d look real pretty tied up,” he says with a smirk as we battle along the boards. “All that attitude, finally quiet.”

I don’t answer, but the image flashes in my head before I can stop it — me, wrists above my head, Santi’s hands on me. My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with the game.

Next shift, Luca skates past me after a whistle and mutters, “Ever let someone cover your eyes and talk you through it? Bet you’d come so fucking hard.”

“Pretty mouth like yours… shame if no one’s taught you what to do with it yet.”

Every comment plants something in my head. Things I’ve never thought about before. Things that suddenly don’t sound so bad if it’s Santi doing them. My brain is running wild with possibilities I didn’t even know I wanted.

I don’t let it show on my face. I just keep playing.

And then, with less than two minutes left in the period, we break out on a rush. Cole feeds it to Elias, who roofs it clean. The lamp lights up.

2-1.

We head toward the tunnel as the horn sounds, and I can’t help myself. “Why don’t you go back to flirting with Cole, Moreau?” I call out as we skate off.

Luca glances over at me with a dry look. “No thanks,” he says. “I like my face.”

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the boards as we step into the tunnel. Even after everything Luca just spent twenty minutes chirping at me, I can’t help it. The image of Viktor dropping him again is apparently fresh in both our minds.

The third period starts fast and mean.

Vanguard comes out swinging. Less than four minutes in, they tie it up on a greasy goal in front of the net that Shane has no chance on. 2-2. The building gets louder, the hits get heavier, and suddenly it feels like whoever scores next is probably going to win the game.

Luca stops chirping after that. Nobody has time for it anymore.

With six minutes left, they score again.

It’s a broken play that turns into a two-on-one the other way. I’m a step too late getting back, and their forward roofs it over Shane’s shoulder.

3–2 Vanguard.

The bench goes quiet for half a second.

Then Damian is already moving, cane planted beside him as he watches the clock.

“Shane! Bench!”