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Again I wanted to kill her ex. Anyone who took a spirited woman and broke her down was a waste of fucking space.
"Give me your phone?"
"Aw, honey, if you wanted my number you could have just asked," I said, letting hope ping in my chest. I knew that it was too soon, that she was healing, but fuck her feisty attitude was my undoing already.
"Nice try, big boy, but that's not it." She held out her hand, fingers wiggling in demand of my phone. Digging in my pocket I pulled it out, placing it in her hand. I was too curious to see what she was up to.
She tapped away for a few minutes before letting out a squeak of triumph that was downright adorable. Her cheeks tinted pink as she glanced up at me but she didn't say a word as she went back to her digging.
"Ah, here it is." She turned the phone, my list of playlists on display.
Oh god.
"Classical, good for focusing. Country, not a bad mix, can't go wrong with the classics. Oh, is this your ‘angry boy’ playlist?" She turned it to show me my workout mix.
"Nope, that's what I play when I want to get pumped before a game," I admitted. "Even us old guys need to feel that rush."
"Old man, please," she snorted, handing it back. "You're not even thirty, are you?"
"Two years away," I confirmed. She rolled her eyes.
"Why are you hockey players so dramatic?"
"They teach it to us in juniors," I said with a grin. "Drama and how to eat enough for three."
"Okay, so team dinners, make extra, noted," she said with fake seriousness, writing a note on her clipboard.
"I better get in there before Coach arrives. See you out there, princess." I threw out a wink before backing out of the door and leaving her in stunned silence. Teasing her might be just as good as fucking with Tate.
Then my brain conjured an image of her between us.
When I hit the locker room it was just the first line, our goalie, Bryant, and our defensemen Adams and Gold. I waved hello to the others before dropping my bag between Tate and Elias.
"Guys, we're in trouble. Have you seen Macy today?"
Elias gave a devilish grin. "Oh yeah, I had a little chat with her earlier. Dibs."
"No fucking way," I growled, the possessiveness in my voice making his smile grow wider.
"Damn, I feel betrayed," Tate protested but there was no heat behind it. "Should I be worried?"
"You'll be calling dibs. Just fucking wait," I laughed as I started pulling on my gear and jersey. We were playing against the Gladiators tonight and we had to get our head in the game.
We each lost ourselves in our pregame rituals. For Williams, it was tucking a picture of his grandma into his gear where it couldn't fall out. She was the only part of his family that had ever been worthwhile. Losing her was hard on him but now she was his good luck charm.
Tate wore the same socks all season. I swear Coach washed them when he wasn't looking, otherwise he'd have stunk us out of here.
And me? My ritual was meditation. I sat down, head bowed like I was praying, and started an internal pep talk, visualizing myself hitting a winning goal, the crowd cheering around us. Just before I heard the coach's whistle, there was a flash of pink hair and booty shorts.
Fuck.
Returning my focus to the chaos around me, I listened as the coach barked out his plans for the night before turning to me. My job was the 'mushy shit' as he called it. Giving the entire team a boost of morale before hitting the ice.
"Listen, the Gladiators are good. But we can be better!" I yelled, the guys cheering around us. "Give it your all. This year's playoff win is ours. Every game counts. We can't lose again! Let's bring Coach Slade a trophy for that lonely case of his!" I added a few more words before Coach blew his whistle again.
Time was up.
The sound of the crowd echoed as we started our way through the tunnel and out to the bench. At the sight of us, our town erupted into cheers. What started as a small local league turned into a huge state-wide thing. We now had our own merch and a cheering section to be proud of.
