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“Okay,” Gigi says, beaming. She skates a few circles in front of us. “I’m your willing student.”
Beckett groans softly. “Don’t say things like that. I can’t skate with a stiffie.”
Her smile only widens. “I think I’ve figured you out,” she informs him.
“Have you?”
“Yes. You’re the man who tries to disarm everyone with sex.” She jerks a thumb at me. “And he’s the grumpy man of few words.” She shrugs. “I like knowing where I stand with people.”
I do too. I suppose we have that in common. Another thing we share is the complete intensity with which we throw ourselves into our sport. The second we get down to business, Gigi’s entire focus is on the task at hand. Fully and unapologetically.
“Right, so this first drill,” I start gruffly. “It’s all about opportunities. Versatile players know how to create scoring opportunities.”
Beckett grabs the pylons and skates around to set them down. He picks a few strategic spots, one in front of the net, two at the point.
Some people gripe and complain about drills. They think nothing can ever truly prepare you for the split-second decisions and unforeseen scenarios that arise during a real game. Me, I think that’s bullshit. Yes, instinct will go a long way. But practice always makes perfect.
“Beck is gonna get all up in your personal space,” I warn her.
That’s actually why I picked him to assist. Dunne’s one of the more aggressive d-men on the team, and he knows how to make life claustrophobic for another player.
“But in this scenario, he’s not the only one suffocating you. You got two other guys, or rather, women,” I amend, as Beckett drops another pylon behind the net. “So if you turn and think you can just escape that way, nope. You can’t. Your goal isn’t to break out and score yourself. Get the puck to me, or to one of our other teammates,” I say, gesturing to the various orange markers.
“Got it.”
“Ready?” I glide to a random spot between the crease and the blue line.
She taps her stick on the ice. “Let’s do this thing.”
Grinning at her, I drop the puck and shoot it toward the boards.
Like a rocket, Gigi skates for it. Beckett is hot on her heels, practically breathing down her neck. Her stick makes contact just as he elbows her and tries to gain control of the puck.
For a moment I wonder if this is a bad idea. I’m six-five. Beck’s six-two. We outmuscle her to an alarming degree. But Gigi holds her own, throwing her shoulder into it, and I hear Beck’s answering grunt. As they fight for domination, I remain in position, waiting for her to make something happen.
Finally, she manages to snap the puck out, but nowhere near me or any of the pylons. The shiny black disk misses every potential stick and gets iced all the way down the boards.
“That would’ve been a breakaway for your opponents,” I tell her when she and Beck skate out.
Gigi’s cheeks are flushed behind her visor. “Not necessarily.”
“My left winger would’ve been right there in the corner, salivating. You just made a perfect pass to him. That’s not where you want to shoot.”
“Hey, I’m trying. That beast was on me.”
“Aw, thanks,” Beckett says, looking pleased.
I roll my eyes. “All right, go again.”
We run the same drill half a dozen times, and each time Gigi can’t wrangle the kind of control she needs back there. Outside of that cramped space, however, she’s ridiculous. The kind of elite skater that coaches drool over. Her edge work is insane. And I’ve seen her game tape—she’s able to pluck shooting or passing opportunities out of thin air.
Except, apparently, when she’s in a tight space.
“This isn’t working.” She sounds frazzled.
“C’mere.”
She skates over to me, removing her helmet to wipe sweat off her forehead. It’s inexplicably hot seeing her do that. And the sight of her braid hanging over one shoulder triggers a strange primal urge to tug on it and pull her toward me so I can slide my tongue through her frowning lips.
I snap myself out of it and try to focus.
“Beck, let’s switch,” I call. “I’ll defend.”
He skates off toward the bench, where he uncaps one of the water bottles. He chugs half of it while I brief Gigi.
“I want you to give me everything you got, all right? High pressure on me. See how I move.”
Now it’s the two of us battling it out, and the tension from the gala returns. My pulse quickens at her proximity, mouth running dry. Hearing her heavy breathing makes me think about how she’d sound while I’m fucking her.
She jams her stick between my skates, trying to pry the puck out. I pivot, successfully getting away from her as I twist my body. I skate out a couple of feet, pivot again, and shoot the puck straight to Beckett. He smashes it into the net.
