Page 22 of Play Dirty

He whirled on me, jerking his arm away violently. I hadn’t even noticed I’d placed my hand on him.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he growled.

I swallowed, dryly. “Get what?”

Stomping forward on his skates, he leaned deep into my space, looking directly into my eyes. It was like staring down a dragon.

“You really think numbers fix this?”

His nose drifted to within an inch of mine. I could smell the salt and sweat on him. Feel the heat of his breath.

“N—No,” I stammered, cursing myself for it. “But I think patterns do.”

He snorted — also like a dragon. Not that I’d seen a dragon snort.

“Yeah,” he snarled. “Good luck with that, Spreadsheet.”

He stormed off for the bench, as a couple of the guys laughed. I didn’t respond. I didn’t chase it.

I just stepped back and let them take the ice.

“How’d that go?” Mercer asked, as I returned to his side.

“Great.”

His mouth twitched from a scowl to a frown, just for a moment. The man knew bullshit when he smelled it. Thankfully, he didn’t chase that, either.

A minute later the whistle blew, and the action began.

The first period started hard and fast. Too fast.

They were flying out on the ice; speed, strength, raw ability — all of it, truly a sight to behold. There were hard hits and aggressive entries. Shots came from all angles, including some that shouldn’t have worked.

But it just wasn’t clean.

My fingers flew over my tablet, marking trends and taking notes. There were passes that came a second too late. Coverage a step off. Players overlapping, well out of position. Gaps opened, where they shouldn’t be.

I tracked everything, making notes of timestamps and issues as they unfolded. Two minutes in, there was an overcommit on the left side. The defense collapsed. A wide lane opened.

Shot on net… saved.

Thankfully.

I tapped the screen in frustration, harder than I meant to.

“Right there,” I murmured.

Mercer didn’t even look my way. I saw a shift in his posture, though.

He saw what I was saying.

The boys kept pushing. For a while, it worked. Raw skill carried them forward, and Ares forced a turnover with a brutal hit along the boards. Caleb snapped off a shot before the defense could set, and Grayson threaded a pass through traffic that shouldn’t have made it at all.

Goal.

The crowd behind us roared. I’d forgotten they were even there. When the bench erupted in celebration, I was still taking notes.

The team was winning, and that was good.