“Shaft?” It turned out that Green Dude not only had no clue about team colors, but he also had the sense of humor of a prepubescent boy.
Ignoring his bait, she nodded and jammed her pen into her ponytail. “The player holds his stick like this. One hand at the top, the other about halfway down, and does a pushing motion with it into the opposing player.”
Five mouths hung open as the boys stared at her. She shook her head. “The dude in the penalty box hit the other dude with his stick. And that’s no bueno, so he got sent to timeout to think about what he’s done.”
Cleo’s body vibrated next to her. “I think they get it.”
Molly wasn’t so sure. Her eyes followed the puck. Being nice to new people was one thing, missing a potential power play goal was an entirely different matter. Hockey was a turn-on-a-dime kind of sport. If you took your eye off the play for even a fraction of a second – or caught yourself daydreaming about a certain red-headed player’s thighs wrapped around your body – you could come back to a different game altogether. The crowd went wild when the commentator announced the Minnesota power play.
“What’s a power play?”
“Did we score?”
One of the men produced his phone from his pocket and pulled up Google. After a few clicks, he read aloud. “A power play is a situation in which a team has an advantage on the ice while one or more players of the opposing team is serving a penalty.”
“So they’re all cheering ‘cause we have one more dude on the ice than the other team for two minutes?”
Points for Green Dude. In his defense, he seemed as though he was genuinely interested in the game and trying to understand how it worked.
On the ice, defenseman Lincoln Scott sailed the puck to Finn who grinned and passed it forward to Will. Her stomach flipped. This particular combination of players were proving to be unstoppable. Finn and Will had played together since they’d met as teenagers. They knew each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and habits. Molly had always wanted to blindfold the pair to see if it made an impact on their game – she doubted it would. If Will was on the ice, Finn had a way of finding him.
She got it. She and Cleo were ride-or-die close as well. But something about the boys had clicked from day one, and it was a bond she’d never dare mess with.
From the moment they’d met, they’d all but imprinted on each other like some kind of fated bromance. She often joked they were likeparabatai– Nephilim warriors who fought together as lifelong partners, bound together by oath. Being hockey players and having roughed each other up playing street hockey as much as the two men had, they were probably bound together by blood as well.
She had no doubt they’d willingly lay down their lives for one another. While they didn’t have matching rune tattoos like Jace and Alec from her favorite guilty pleasure TV seriesShadowhunters, the guys were tight AF. “Bros before hos” was a common phrase tossed about by guys, but bros before sisters was an even stricter moral code.
Will passed the puck to Finn who sailed it back to Will. Molly leaned forward in her seat, a chill of anticipation running up her spine. She’d seen this play a thousand times before, and while Cedar Rapids had a solid wall of a goaltender, the combined speed, agility, and sheer determination of Minnesota’s top line was impressive.
“Glove side.” Her announcement came a split second before Will shot the puck at the goalie’s glove side, and the netminder grabbed at it just a fraction too late. She grinned and wrote the goal in her notebook, taking great care not to write something about how delectable Finn’s ass looked as he assisted.
“How’d you know?” Cleo shivered, rubbing her biceps with her palms.
While Cleo was dating one of the players, Greek God extraordinaire, Lincoln Scott, she was still learning the subtleties of the game and the nuances of the players on the team. Molly couldn’t help but smile. “It ain’t my first rodeo.” The novelty of Cleo attending hockey games of her own free will, now that she was dating Lincoln, hadn’t worn off for Molly. She didn’t care how many questions her best friend asked, as long as she didn’t grumble and moan every time Molly wanted to go to a game.
Three heads turned to face her from the row in front. “Do you play?” Green Dude pursed his lips.
She snorted. “No. I write for the school paper so I watch a lot of hockey. And number 82 is my brother. I know his playbook.”
Green Dude’s eyebrow arched and he nodded. “Wanna come down here” – he patted his thigh – “and help me learn the rules?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Nice try, Green Dude. But you couldn’t handle me.” She picked up her soda, took a big slurp, and put it back on the floor next to her feet.
He flicked his gaze to his shirt and smirked. “Max. And don’t be so quick to judge, Pretty Girl. We might be a match made in heaven.”
“Oooh, Max. I judged you the second you wore Cedar Rapids green in my barn.”
One of the other guys snickered.
“Also, you’re not my type.”
“What is your type?”
Finn O’Brien.
Max’s friend eyed her as though he was thinking about throwing his hat in the ring.
“Nope.” Her headshake was emphatic.
