Page 26 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

He misses the net thirty percent of the time, not because he doesn’t have the skill, but because the angle is off. I’ve spent so much time in arenas, watching my sisters play or coach. Even though hockey isn’t my thing, I know a good player when I see one. And I also know where he’s going wrong.

I step out from behind the seats. “It’s the angle of your wrist shot that’s the problem!”

Mac trips over his own feet and goes sprawling across the ice. On the upside, the puck goes in the net this time.

CHAPTER 11

MAC

Iswear I die for a few seconds, and Wayne Gretzky welcomes me at the pearly gates of heaven. I roll onto my back on the ice and suck in a lungful of air. But I knocked the wind out of myself.

Feet slide into my peripheral vision and Fee crouches over me. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” She places a gentle hand on my chest, then moves to run her fingers through my hair, which I immediately want her to do on repeat until the end of time. “Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I wheeze. My embarrassment is a giant wearing an ostentatious outfit, but other than that and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut, I’m great.

“You went down hard.” Her cringe says it all.

I push into a sitting position. I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie, no gear, so I was without padding to soften the fall. “I’m really okay.”

I’ve taken plenty of hits on the ice, but nothing decimates an ego quite like tripping over my own fucking feet in front of the girl I like. I booked private ice time to break out of my hockey funk.

“Why are you practicing on your own?” Fee asks as I get to my feet.

Beyond this arrangement, Fee is also my friend. If I can be honest with anyone, it’s her. “I’m trying to turn my season around.”

She nods slowly. “So you booked extra ice time.”

“Yeah.” I rub my bottom lip.

“Why not ask Brody or Gage to practice with you?” she asks. “I’m sure they’d be happy to get out here with you.”

“They would, but—” I blow out a breath. “—everyone’s always on Brody about his brother and his connections and I don’t want to be one of those people for him.”

She tips her head. “You’re his roommate, though.”

“Still feels like taking advantage, you know?”

Her expression shifts to empathy. “Unfortunately, I do, but he’s your teammate and your friend, I don’t think he would see it as you taking advantage.” She motions to the pile of pucks. “You’re closer than you think with your shots on net.”

“I’m missing almost as much as I’m hitting,” I argue.

“Your ratio’s a bit off, you’re two out of three in the net,” she counters.

Fresh embarrassment washes over me. “How long have you been stalking me, Fee?”

She twists a lock of hair around her finger, cheeks turning pink. “For like, fifteen minutes, maybe, and I would call it active observation, not stalking.”

“Hm, convenient that they’re similar but different,” I tease.

Today there’s red paint under her nails and a streak of dark purple in her hair. “You’ve bulked up a lot this year.”

“I’ve been training to put on muscle,” I reply, somewhat defensively.

“I know, the gym selfies on your socials don’t lie.” She gives my biceps a playful squeeze.

“You like my gym selfies?” I press.

“You don’t need me to tell you you’re pretty, Mac. And I can appreciate hard work in all its various forms.” She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I do think all that hard work might actually be what’s throwing your shot off.”