The sound of his voice, low and sure.“There's better Chocolate at my place.”
The feel of his thumb brushing my cheek.“Smudge.”
The crushing, Perfect pressure of his mouth on mine.
The way my knees had practically turned to water.
“Holt!Heads up, for Christ's sake!”
Coache’s whistle screeched, slicing through the fog in my head.A puck I should have easily intercepted, slid past my blade and trickled into the corner.I'd been so busy replaying the moment I pulled away, my back hitting Henry's kitchen counter, that I’d completely missed a basic passing drill.
“You waiting for a written invitation?”coach bellowed, his face mottled red.“Skate!”
I pushed off, my calves burning with fresh wave of exertion-or maybe it was shame.I could feel the eyes on me.Not just Coache's.My teammates.This wasn't the quiet, focused Charlie Holt they were used to.This was a mess in skates.
The worst part was he wasn't even here.There was no Immaculate suit watching from the other side of the glass today.No quiet, imposing presence to pin the blame on.This was all me.My own brain had been hijacked.
We finished that drill, and coach blew the whistle for a water break.I glided to the bench, grabbing my bottle and squeezing the stream of water into my mouth, hoping it would cool the heat that had been living under my skin since last night.
Shay slid up next to me, his breath clouding in the cold air.“So,” he said, leaning close so the coaches wouldn't hear.“How was the dinner?”
I choked on the water.“What?”
“From your dinner.with the billionaire.”He waggled his eyebrows
“It was dinner, Shay.It was fine.”I avoided his eyes, focusing on retying my helmet strap.
“uh-huh.And that's why you’re playing today like you’ve never seen a puck before?Because the dinner was fine?”he nudged me with his shoulder.“C’mon.Details.Did he try to buy you?Offer you a private island?What does a guy like that even talk about?”
He talks about building empires and not feeling powerless.He kisses like it’s a negotiation he’s already won.
“Mostly team stuff,” i liked, my voice tight.“sponsorship, the usual”
Shay's smirk widened.“Bullshit.You're blushing.I can see it under all that gear.”
“It's called exertion, you idiot.”
“It's called a crush,” he sing-songed, just as Felix joined us.
“who’s got a crush?”Felix asked, taking a long drink from his bottle.
“Holt.On our new sugar daddy.”
OMG why do I tell them about my life.
Felix snorted.“Figured.He’s been staring into space like someone replaced his hockey IQ with a romance novel.” he clapped me on the back, hard enough to make me stumble.“don’t worry, rookie.It happens to the best of us.Just don’t let it mess with your game.”
Too late.
The rest of the practice was an exercise in humiliation.I fumbled simple passes.I overskated the puck.During a two-on-one drill, I sent a shot so wide it hit the glass with a pathetic thud instead of the sharp crack of a goal.
Coach's patience, never a deep well, ran dry.“Holt!My office after you shower!The rest of you get off my ice!”
The locker room was a welcome cacophony.The banging of sticks against lockers, the hiss of the showers, the loud, stupid jokes- it was normally a balm.Today, it just felt like noise I had to wade through.
I kept my head down, peeling off my gear with more force than necessary.The smell of sweat and steam usually felt like accomplishment.Today it just felt heavy.
“Coach’s office huh?Shay said, dropping onto the bench beside me, already half-undressed.“What’s the bet?Fifty says he asks you if you're feeling sick.”
