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"Guys, gather up!" I shouted, corralling the team. "Get ready to meet our latest weapon—Eddie Thompson. Show 'em what you've got, kid."
With an enthusiastic stride, Eddie cut through the crowd of players, wavy blond hair bouncing as he reached the front. His eyes flicked to each teammate as if already calculating plays in his mind.
"Eddie's a winger, fresh out of the OHL. Yeah, you heard me right. He's just 19, but the kid racked up 40 goals last season. Not only that, he’s got some of the fastest hands I’ve ever seen. So, don’t let his age fool you; he knows his way around a hockey stick."
Jensen whistled. "Forty goals? Damn, kid, you're a one-person army."
Waller, our goalie, threw in his two cents. "Fast hands, huh? Just try to get one past me."
Eddie grinned. "Challenge accepted."
The room offered a smattering of applause and more than a few nods of approval. Eddie's cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink, but he held his ground.
Hoss, standing at the back, wore a grin I couldn't quite decode. He looked like a cat who had just cornered a mouse—or maybe found another cat to play with.
"Any words for the team, Eddie?" I nudged him forward.
"Just that I’m thrilled to be here and can't wait to bring the heat," he said, his blush creeping from his collar to the tips of his blond hair. It was hard not to smile at that.
"Ah, to be young and optimistic," Hoss quipped from the back, winking at Eddie.
I rolled my eyes. “Back to business, men. We've got drills in ten. Hoss, a word?"
Hoss skated over with that playful smirk still decorating his lips as he stopped before me. "New blood, huh?"
"Yeah, but let’s not corrupt him too early. Kid’s got promise, but he needs discipline," I warned, acutely aware of the narrowing space between us.
Hoss’s eyes gleamed. "Oh, I don’t know, sometimes a lack of discipline can be...interesting."
As the word fell from his lips, he took another step, dangerously encroaching on my personal space. As we looked at each other, it was like someone cranked the thermostat. My gut clenched, remembering our unplanned kisses.
"Interesting doesn’t win games," I shot back, making a conscious effort not to move away. Instead, I found myself stepping closer, my voice dropping lower. "Discipline does."
Hoss tilted his head slightly, accepting the challenge. "Discipline can also suck the life out of a game. And a relationship." He took another tiny step, and we were almost chest to chest.
I opened my mouth to respond, but then I heard it—a pointed throat-clearing from the direction of the locker stalls. We both turned. Waller eyed us like we were a puck he was about to block.
Caught in the act, I felt my cheeks heat up. "Uh, right. Don't we have drills to run?"
Hoss chuckled, retreating just a hair but keeping eye contact. "Afraid of getting into it, Pete? Afraid you’ll be...penalized?"
I met his gaze head-on. "Oh, I’ve got no problem with penalties. It's bad plays I'm not a fan of."
We stood there for a moment, letting the tension simmer. Waller’s interruption had thrown a bucket of ice on the heat between us, but it wasn't enough to extinguish the fire.
"We should...umm...get back," I finally said, pointing toward the now restless team. Hoss seemed almost relieved as he nodded.
"Right. Can't keep the eager beavers waiting."
As I walked away, I felt a mix of victory and defeat, like we'd played an entire game, and both walked away with a tie. But it was just the first period of a long season. And knowing Hoss, there would be plenty more plays—good, bad, and downright scandalous—before the final buzzer.
"Let's move, men!” Hoss shouted, clapping his hands and shepherding the team toward the ice.
The ice was slick under our skates as we started drills, the cold air filling my lungs with a crispness that snapped my focus back to the game. Well, almost. There was still a lingering heat from my encounter with Hoss that a cold rink couldn't entirely quench.
"Eddie, you're with the first line. Let's see how you fit in," I shouted above the sound of skates slicing ice and pucks clattering against boards.
He flashed a grin, obviously excited, and skated over to join his veteran teammates. They glided off, executing a near-perfect drill that had me nodding in approval. Not bad for his first day.
