“I had a collision at high speed with a trash can during a drill. I kissed the ice.”
“Oh, Nash, I’m sorry. Can I see?” She takes one step closer to him, but the dipshit jumps back as if he had been burned.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Taryn insists but doesn’t make any more attempts to touch him. “My interest was purely professional, Nash. I’m a nurse. I just wanted to see if you needed stitches.”
“The doctor will take a look at it.” He barks and I’m about to ask him what the fuck is his problem when his tone softens. “I appreciate your concern, Taryn. But I’m not even bleeding anymore. I’m sure it’s ok. I wouldn’t even be here if Coach hadn’t insisted I get this looked at. If you’re done with the medical team, you should go. We could get into trouble just by being seen here talking.”
I’m about to tell him to grow a fucking pair, but the doctor’s office door opens. “Belkin.” Our team’s doctor addresses Nash, but he looks at our small group with interest. “Coach Harrison called me to let me know you’d be on your way to see me. Come on in.”
As we file into the doctor’s office, I throw one last longing look at Taryn. I almost brush my arms with hers as I walk past her, but Mack and Nash are right that it isn’t worth the risk. The staff are obviously watching us to make sure we don’t break the rules.
I don’t want to cause trouble for my girl, but nothing and no one will ever keep me away from Taryn.
CHAPTER SIX
GAME NIGHT
TARYN
One last swipe of lip gloss and I’m game ready.
I smile at my reflection in the locker room’s mirror, and I almost don’t recognize the perfectly polished blonde bombshell that’s staring back at me.
During makeovers, we’ve been taught how to apply our makeup to achieve the highly polished but natural look Carole and Lexi envisioned for the Shooting Stars.
Thankfully, my nose hasn’t bruised after the incident during the kick line practice, and I was selected to dance tonight.
Nerves make my stomach contract at the thought of all those eyes on me. I’m one of the six dancers who will perform on a platform that will be lowered onto center ice.
“Tar, do I look ok? Or do you think I need to curl my hair on this side a little more?” Talia asks.
“Maybe just one of these strands right here.” I muse, brushing against a curl that’s falling flat.
Talia turns to check herself in the mirror. “You’re right. Can you help me? I can’t get to that spot very easily.”
“I can help you. I have my curling iron still plugged in.” Gen offers before I can agree to help.
“Hmm, no thanks.” Talia visibly recoils when Gen approaches her, brandishing the hot hair styling tool.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to help and you’re being a bitch.”
A look passes between me and Talia, but neither of us wants to confront Genevieve right now.
“Seriously,” she bites out. “Can someone explain why you’re looking at me like I’m Hannibal Lecter when I just offered my help?”
“We all know what happened the last time you helped someone. We’ve all seen Taryn’s boobs thanks to you.”
The look of horrified shock on Gen’s face looks so genuine that I almost suggest that she should pursue acting rather than dancing.
“Are you for real? That was an accident. How is it my fault if Taryn’s boobs are so big she had to have her uniform especially tailored? What do you think I’m gonna do? Burn you on purpose?”
Talia and I look at each other again.
“Fine,” Gen bites out. “Suit yourself. But don’t think this isn’t going to get back to Carole. She told us how important team spirit is to her, and you’re refusing my kindness. So fucking rude. You really don’t deserve to perform on the platform on Friday. I hope Carole sees that she made the wrong choice.”
Jodie, who’s been watching the whole exchange while putting the finishing touches to her own makeup, intervenes. “Is that why you’re offering to help?” She uses air quotes when she says help. “So if there’s another accident, you get to dance on the platform instead of them?”
