Page 21 of Play Dirty

Down on the floor, Sir Cleans-a-Lot had trapped himself between two chairs. He was rotating left and right, slapping them with his little cardboard sword as if he might defeat them. His struggle was futile, though. He wouldn’t escape until someone cleared a path for him, and let him do his thing.

“You and me both,” I murmured, turning the sink off.

“What’s that?”

Behind me, Sebastian was finishing up. I shook my head at him.

“Nothing. Have a good night.”

With that, I headed for the stairs. I had data to crunch. Spreadsheets to compile. Conclusions to draw, based upon mountains of sculptable data.

And up in my room, the cold awaited.

~ 9 ~

HAVEN

The rink felt wholly different on game night. It was louder, more boisterous. The air felt charged and alive. Even the ice seemed to glow beneath the overhead lights, reflecting the millions of open-ended possibilities spread out before us over the next three periods.

I was only interested in the ones that left us victorious.

I stood just off the bench, tablet in hand, watching warmups as the guys took their laps. Their skates carved fresh lines in the newly-shaved ice, pucks snapping off sticks with practiced ease.

Damn, they looked good. They always looked good.

Looking good wasn’t the problem.

I tapped the screen a few times, marking things more out of habit than actual necessity. Movement patterns. Line rotations. Small tendencies that already jumped out to my hyper-analytical mind, and started repeating before the game had even begun.

Mercer stood on my left, arms crossed, his face grim. He looked like he was posing for a sculptor to chisel a statue of him.

“You got anything?” he grunted, without looking at me.

“Yes,” I told him. “They’re going to overload the puck side early. From the tapes I’ve watched, they’ve done it for the last three games.”

“And?”

“And it leaves the weak side open, if we move fast enough.”

Mercer grunted again. He was exceptionally good at it.

“Tell them.”

Right.

Moving to the boards, I caught Grayson as he came off his last warmup pass.

“Hey,” I told him. “Watch their left side on entry. They collapse early. If you shift—”

He didn’t stop walking. Shit, he didn’t even slow down.

“Got it,” he said.

His tone was flat. Dismissive. Totally not listening.

Sighing, I turned and found Ares staring at me. He pushed past as well, without breaking stride.

“Ares…”