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He looks at me for a second, then goes back to what he was doing. I scoot over a little to give him more room, and he takes it. His legs against my back are comforting. It’s the reassurance I needed but didn’t have to ask for.
“Did you eat dinner?” Paul’s voice is quiet.
“Mmhmm.”
Paul runs his fingers through my hair, and like a light switch, I’m out.
7
Paul
Practice the next morning is rough, thanks to Preston. He’s not even on the ice since he’s still healing up from his shoulder dislocation, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling shit at us.
“You’re useless if you can’t keep your emotions in check!” he yells at Brendon as he and Riggs get into it. It’s interesting how aggressive he gets on the ice when it’s not in his nature at all once he leaves the rink. But the younger player has a lot to learn, and Brendon is not taking any prisoners today.
“Fuck off!” Brendon yells across the ice and spins on Riggs again.
“If you can’t read the plays and anticipate where the puck is going to be, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Brendon’s face is red with frustration and exertion. Something is going on with him, but I don’t know what.
Riggs gets into Brendon’s face. “Maybe the problem is your lack of accuracy!” Then he pushes Brendon. I can see it playing out before it happens, so I grab the back of Brendon’s jersey and pull him backward.
“Let it go. He’s a snot-nosed brat who doesn’t know how to take criticism,” I tell Brendon, wrapping an arm around his chest.
“I’m going to beat it into his fucking head. Smart-mouthed little shit is going to learn,” Brendon growls, and I have to hide the way my body reacts to it. It’s hot as fuck when he gets worked up.
Preston yells something that I don’t listen to, and Brendon looks over at him.
“What do you think it’ll take to ruffle his feathers?” Brendon asks, watching him tear down Riggs. I swear Carmichael gets off on pointing out everyone’s flaws.
“Pretty sure Jeremy is his only weakness.”
I spin Brendon around until we’re facing each other and after a minute, he grabs my hand and my hip and attempts to dance with me. I laugh and follow along, glad to see him doing something that is so very him.
“You’re crazy.”
A big smile splits his face. “You mispronounced awesome.”
Coach blows the whistle, yelling instructions at us. We line up like we’re told and start running some puck-handling drills, then move into speed drills, all the while Carmichael is telling everyone how much they suck.
“I don’t think you could skate any slower if we tied anvils to your fucking skates!” Carmichael yells, and I sigh.
“Why don’t you fuck off?” Brendon hollers at him.
Their eyes lock with cold fury.
“Are you trying to get your ass kicked today?” I smack his helmet, and Brendon turns to glare at me.
“He’s a fucking dick, and no one will call him on it because they’re scared of him. Fuck him,” Brendon spits.
“He’s definitely not taking it easy today,” Jeremy sighs. “I didn’t think he could be this much of an ass when he’s not even on the ice.”
We race back to the other side of the ice, in between cones, and come to a stop with the rest of the team.
“If your stamina in bed is anything like it is on the ice, I feel sorry for whoever you’re fucking.”
I don’t know who Preston was talking to directly, but Brendon tenses, his face turning almost purple.
“Jesus,” Jeremy mutters like he knows something I don’t.
