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“He’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s used to the taste of blood in his mouth. And it’s not like I’m going to kiss him.”
Once we reach the outer edge of the ice, our conversation comes to a halt. Taylor’s eyes are as wide as her mouth, full on ogling the players. Her behavior is almost embarrassing.Almost.Because I’m doing the same thing after I spot Preston on the ice. He skates with such grace I can’t help but admire him in all of his glory.
A quick squabble ensues where two players fight for possession of the puck. In a blur of blue jerseys, I don’t have a good view, but someone takes a shot on goal. It hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. One of Preston’s teammates passes the puck to him, and then he’s gone. He moves so quickly down the ice I have to blink to refocus. Damn, he’s fast. My dad wasn’t kidding about Preston. He’s talented.
I walk closer to the Plexiglas stumbling over my high-top Chuck Taylors. Pressing my hand to the glass, I stare in awe as Preston scores for his team. I bite my lip accidentally digging into the fresh cut from practice. A metallic taste fills my mouth. But I don’t care. All I can think about is Preston.
Watching him play for the first time is… memorable. Similar to how I felt the first time I saw Coach, Preston’s mom, standing next to Dante Fisher. Dante was my favorite basketball player growing up. I idolized him for years because I wanted to be like Dante. And Charlotte “Coach” Coachman—now Parker—was the first female sports agent.
People took her seriously. Coach was a force to be reckoned with in the sports world. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her onESPNwith a big grin on her face next to Dante. She’d just closed a massive deal for him. Most of all, she gave me hope. I’ve wanted to be like her ever since. That’s my dream—to become a sports agent.
“You should get that to your dad,” Taylor says, whipping me out of my Preston-induced stupor.
“Right.” I make a beeline for my dad who’s talking to a player in the box.
With his back to us, I catch a few glimpses of the scrimmage taking place before he angles his body enough to see us behind him. Dad holds up his hand suggesting I meet him on the other side.
Distracted by the players, I have to nudge Taylor to get her to follow me. She’s mesmerized by them. A few of them take note of us. One waves, though I can’t see his face. I return his gesture hoping he wasn’t attached to one of the dicks I’d seen in the locker room.
My dad pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and I hand him the wallet.
He takes it from me with a closed-mouth smile. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from me to Taylor. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”
“I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”
“Still working on your jump shot?”
She bobs her head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”
He winks at her, and then turns to me, studying my face. “How was practice? Looks like you got a nice shiner forming on your cheek… and your lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”
I laugh at his boxing joke. “Practice was fine. Could have been better. But, at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”
My dad inspects the gash, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”
“Basketball is a rough sport,” I shoot back. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”
“You were never delicate, that’s for sure.” He sighs as if he regrets turning me into a tomboy.
Before my mother left us, she had me prancing around in floral dresses and ballet flats. Yuck. I never liked ballet or dresses. Track pants and T-shirts are more my speed. My dad was right to raise me the way he did. If my mom had stuck around, I would have been pretending to be someone I wasn’t to make her happy. And I would have hated every second of it.
“Are you staying until practice is over?”
I shrug. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”
“That’s the spirit.” He slaps me on the back like I’m one of the guys. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game is going to be tough for us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Me neither,” Taylor adds.
Dad forces a smile and slides his hands to his hip. Biting the inside of his cheek, he seems nervous. More anxious than I’ve seen him in a long time. Glancing at the ice, his gaze travels between various players landing on no one in particular.
With the game a few days away, he’s on edge, even though he would never admit it. It’s the first home game of the season and his first as the new head coach. NCAA announcers will talk about his role whether they win or lose. And even more so if they lose.
I tap my dad on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”
Dad grins. “Me, too.”
