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His expression clouds over. “So you’re saying he’s for sure not giving me the coaching slot.”
“I’m not saying that. But he did mention he thinks you have a bad attitude. So, yeah, I could probably put in a good word for you. About your leadership or whatever. He and I speak on the phone all the time, and I’m going home next weekend for a visit. If you want, I’ll talk you up every time. Well, maybe not every time or he’ll get suspicious. But I’ll tell him we’re friends and make sure he knows you’d be a solid choice.” I offer a shrug. “My opinion means a lot to him.”
Ryder eyes me expectantly. “What do you want in return?”
“Help me iron out some of those issues behind the net. Maybe we can have a few sessions together. One-on-one.” I grin at him. “Hey, I could probably teach you a thing or two as well.”
“I don’t doubt it. You got moves.”
“See? This would be beneficial for both of us then. You work with me, I work for you. Win-win.” I meet his gaze. “You interested?”
He contemplates it for so long, I wonder if he’s going to turn me down. Which would be stupid and make utterly no sense because—
“I’m down,” he says gruffly. “Text me the time and place for our first session, and I’ll be there.”
He strides off for real this time, leaving me staring after him. And wondering what I’ve signed myself up for.
BRIAR UNIVERSITY MEN’S ICE HOCKEY
STARTING ROSTER
PLAYER
POSITION
YEAR
Case Colson
Forward (C)
JR
Luke Ryder
Forward (C)
JR
Will Larsen
Forward
JR
David Demaine
Defense
SR
Shane Lindley
Forward
JR
Beckett Dunne
Defense
JR
Tristan Yoo
Forward
FR
Austin Pope
Defense
FR
Joe Kurth
Goalie
SR
Matt Tierney
Defense
JR
Tim Coffey
Defense
SR
Nick Lattimore
Forward
JR
Nazem Talis
Forward
SOPH
Todd Nelson
Goalie
SOPH
Micah Kucher
Forward
SR
Jim Woodrow
Defense
SOPH
Jordan Trager
Forward
JR
Rand Hawley
Defense
SR
Hugo Karlsson
Defense
SR
Patrick Armstrong
Forward
SOPH
Mason Hawley
Forward
SOPH
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RYDER
Chad Jensen, drama queen
GIGI TEXTS LATER THAT NIGHT ASKING IF TOMORROW WORKS FOR our first private session. It’s weird seeing her name on my phone. Or maybe it’s weird seeing it as “Gigi.” She’s been Gisele in my head for years now. I feel like my phone should probably reflect that, so I pull up her contact info and change the name, chuckling to myself because I know how much this would annoy her if she knew.
ME:
Tomorrow works for me. But we have to clear the ice time with Jensen or Adley to see when we can use the rink.
GISELE:
Actually, I have a more private place for us to practice. You cool going somewhere else? Has to be at night, though. After 8.
ME:
Got it. You need me to be your dirty little secret.
GISELE:
It sounds so shady when you say it like that.
ME:
Doesn’t make it any less true.
She’s typing again. I’m sure some explanation for why she can’t be seen fraternizing with the enemy. I send a follow-up before she can respond.
ME:
Is it cool if Beckett tags along? Have some drills in mind but we need a third, preferably a d-man.
The dots disappear, then return.
GISELE:
Fine. If you think it’ll help.
ME:
Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he keeps our dirty secret to himself. Won’t tarnish your good girl reputation.
GISELE:
I’ll message you tomorrow to confirm the details.
GISELE:
Delightful chatting with you as always!
I grin, grabbing a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off and join my friends in the living room. It’s Friday night, but nobody made any plans to go out. Shane’s on the couch with a dark-haired cheerleader in his lap. He met her on the quad earlier while she and some friends were suntanning topless on the grass. Now her tongue is mining for gold in his mouth. When I enter the room, they don’t even notice me.
Beckett sits in the armchair, playing a video game. His eyes twinkle when he notices where mine are focused. He nods toward the couple. “I keep asking to tag in, but…”
I chuckle and settle on the other end of the sectional from the kissing couple, mindlessly watching Beckett shoot zombies on the screen. He loses the level when the horde traps him against a chain-link fence, then sets down the controller and reaches for his phone. He checks the screen.
“Still no lists,” he says.
I nod. Training camp wrapped up this morning, but the final roster still hasn’t been released. Jensen said there’d be two lists: the full roster, and the nineteen or so starters he plans to dress for our first game.
I’m worried about some of my Eastwood teammates. There’ll be guys who won’t make the cut, and that’s going to be a tough pill for them to swallow.
“I assumed it would be emailed at the end of the day,” Beckett says. “Like, regular business hours.”
I lift my beer to my lips and take a swig. “Maybe the asshole likes the drama.”
Beck snorts. “Right. Chad Jensen, Drama Queen.”
A soft moan sounds from the end of the couch. Shane has his hand up the cheerleader’s shirt.
“Yo,” Beckett tells them. “Take it somewhere else.”
Shane pries his lips off hers. His eyes are a bit hazy, but there’s an unmistakable gleam of humor. “Says the biggest exhibitionist I know,” he taunts at Beck.
