Page 169 of Sidelined

I stared at my bed, Beckett behind me, and waited for the door to open. When it did, I spoke up again. “And Beckett,” I said, turning my head just enough so he would see my cool, composed profile. “The only way I’ll play friends with you, is if you learn how to trust me out there where it matters.”

He snorted. Because of course he did. It hardly surprised me. “Trust you to do what?”

“If you’re still insisting I cost us that match yesterday, think again before you ask me to be part of your schemes.” It took all my strength to stay composed through the words I squeezed over my lips. “And maybe question your own skill on the ice.”

Not one of my muscles twitched; not for a moment did my voice crack. I played every secret ace I had and got through this without showing him any weakness. But it had been a close call.

When Beckett murmured another ‘uh-huh,’ and shut the door, I reached for the back of my desk chair and grabbed it for balance. “Fuck,” I whispered, struggling for air. That had been the hottest thing I’d ever felt; that had somehow sparked the lustiest thoughts and fanned the embers of my deepest desires. Holy fuck, he could be hot when he wanted to be; and when I made myself forget who he was.

I shut my eyes and tried to clear my head of Beckett Partridge.

Somehow, I would need to find enough composure to be around him in this house for another year and a half. This house and on the ice. And in the locker room after practice. And in the showers. Fuck.

4

BECKETT

I didn’t see the elusive fucker for another three days. However the hell he had managed it, Caden steered clear of me even around the house we shared.

Perhaps he was punishing me for my lack of judgment. Oh, and it had truly been an epic lack of it. I’d given in to the dumbest temptation of mine. And it wasn’t just because Caden was all stern handsomeness and sculpted muscles; sure, that was my type, but my type cost a penny for a dozen. I could find guys like him in every nook and cranny, on and off campus.

But there was something impossible about Caden Jones. He was impossible to win over and he was the wrongest thing I could want. Which made me want him all the more.

And in his absence, my desire for Caden Jones only increased. Because I’d really thought…ah, it didn’t matter what I thought. I’d been mistaken.

So, when Caden strolled into the locker room on Tuesday with a stony face and as cold as his brown eyes could be, I forced myself to stay cool. I acknowledged him with a curt nod, still unsure where we stood. He’d made a request I hadn’t fully understood; mainly because I had been dealing with rejection at the time. Also, what the fuck was it supposed to mean? That I should trust him more? I fucking hated riddles.

Whatever it was that Caden had meant, it made no impact on anything now. He marched toward his locker without another glance, undressed casually, and put the gear on. Practice went by well with no highs or lows. We had exactly zero interactions and Coach Murry was standing on the side, arms crossed at his chest, watching very intently.

When it was over, Coach stopped me on my way to the locker room. “Is that the best you two dummies can do for the team?”

“I’m trying, Coach,” I said, my voice more tired than I’d anticipated. “Will you let us play on Friday?”

“Hmm.” Coach said nothing else. He narrowed his eyes in thought, then spun away from me.

When I finally reached the locker room, several guys glanced at me like they expected some sort of a speech. I ignored them, locking my gaze onto Caden’s broad, bare back. He was ripping off the Velcro and shedding off the pieces of his gear until he was down to his jockstrap. I had never allowed myself to look at another teammate with my lusty eyes, but I couldn’t resist it now.

Caden grabbed a towel and marched into the shower, stepping out of his jockstrap along the way, just like all the other guys. Except, I had no interest in seeing the other guys. And I had no right to stare at Caden, who I wanted to see.

I swallowed the growing knot in my throat as panic slowly prickled up my spine, and simply grabbed my stuff from the locker and rushed back to the boarding house.

By Thursday’s practice, I was no wiser. Caden and I were in the same limbo we’d been in two days earlier and the match was coming up soon. Coach Murry had his sulky face on; Caden had his military expressionless face going hard; and I…I was fucking lost. Between nursing my wounded pride, puzzling Caden’s meaning, and reading Coach’s thoughts off his hardened face, I managed just enough strength to get the team spirits up.

And yet, when it was over, Coach had no answer for me. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said.

“But we’re playing tomorrow,” I pointed out.

“Michaels is ready to take over at a moment's notice, son.” Coach pursed his lips.

Except, Michaels didn’t want it and the team would definitely lose. Not that I had a way to promise a victory. I’d been distracted both times this week and Caden seemed to have lost his edge, too. He was distracted out there and more than cold off the ice. I couldn’t read him. I couldn’t read anyone.

So when I returned to the boarding house, the only thing I knew for sure was that I had a desperate need to burn more energy. And since kissing Caden, only to get pushed away, guys who would welcome me without exchanging names seemed just a little unappealing. So, instead, I burned my energy by running. I ran and ran as rain drizzled and sweat broke over my body. I ran more, until my calves were burning and my lungs felt twice their size.

Whether it was a stroke of luck or just another kick in the balls, when I returned to the boarding house, it was fairly quiet. Even the lights seemed subdued from the outside. Some, doubtlessly, weren’t in there; others were slacking down in the rec room; and some, like Caden Jones, were probably holed up in their rooms. And this was where my balls got the kicking. I barged into the house, dripping wet from rain and glowing with the heat I’d worked myself up to, and there, in the huge, open kitchen, stood Caden, snacking on cookies.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said after he looked up.

“Sorry,” I murmured, my command of the English language dramatically dropping off. “I was clearing my head.”

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