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I step up into the bench area and shake his hand.
“What brings you to Crown Point? You’re in the middle of the playoffs.” He narrows his eyes at me. “They didn’t suspend you for a game, did they?”
“Not this time.” I smile. “No, we just needed a little break. Our next game is in two days in Denver.”
Most games happen every other day, but sometimes scheduling for television puts an extra day in between. And this time it’s worked out in our favor.
He nods seriously. “Well, I’m glad to see you.”
We turn our attention to the players on the ice. “Anyone promising?”
He points. One, two, three players.
“Hmm,” I murmur.
“You bring your skates?”
I grin. “Of course. And I brought some friends…”
Greyson, Steele, Miles, and Knox come around the corner.
“Holy shit,” one of the players on the ice says.
Coach greets all of them, slapping their backs. He pats Knox on the cheek. “You boys are welcome back any time.”
Melody joins the other girls in the arena seats. I wink at her, then drop the bag with my skates. We lace up fast, all of us eager to get on the ice. I didn’t bring a stick, but Coach orders one of the players to get us some from the equipment manager.
I step onto the ice, smiling over my shoulder at my friends.
It’s been a while since we’ve all been on the ice together. Playing for the same side anyway.
That would be the goal.
“Jacob Rhodes.” One of the players that Coach pointed out skids to a halt in front of me. “I took your place as right d-man.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Well, pretty sure Tony Rodrigues took my place. You probably took his.”
He shrugs and holds out his hand. “West. Griffin.”
Well, fuck. Now I don’t know if his first or last name is Griffin. I guess I’ll just have to catch a glimpse of the back of his jersey as he skates away. Kind of pathetic, but whatever. He’s got a cocky face that makes me want to punch him. But Greyson gave me the same vibe when I met him, and look how he turned out.
I shake it. “You any good?”
He nods, smiling. “I’m just here for two years. Per my contract with LA.”
The very team that we’re facing in the playoffs.
I appraise him with a new eye. He’s already been drafted, then. I’m nottoosurprised, if he chose to come here. Coach Roake has a good reputation. I mean, he producedus. So…
“Congratulations,” I say.
He smirks.
Greyson skates over, stopping sharply and sending a shower of ice over Griffin’s legs. He hands me a stick. “Ready?”
I nod and glance at Griffin. “Well? You better bring your A game.”
After a spontaneous scrimmage, in which we decimate the CPU team, we follow Roake back into his office. He invites us back any time, to which we heartily agree, and we borrow his locker room showers before we return to the girls.
