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“How are you doing, buddy?” Boss asked, skating over to me with his brow furrowed in concern. His brown eyes were wide as he glanced down at my body before meeting my gaze again. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips. I grabbed his empty cup and tossed it over the boards nearby, and he winced at thesplishof the ice going everywhere. “Are you okay there?”
“Fine,” I snapped and skated off as a group of laughing guys stepped out onto the ice. So much for my few minutes of peace.
Home.
Here at the rink.
There wasn’t anyplace I could relax.
Once everyone was on the ice, we ran through the drills Coach Hill was into at the moment. He had his favorites, then rotated other things in. He barely gave us time to breathe after having us do some advanced quick hands drills before barking, “Get ready for off-ice exercise!”
There was a general groan of irritation from everyone, but this wasn’t unexpected. We got changed into our workout gear quickly and met him outside where he’d had Rain and his assistant coaches set up the parking lot for stick-handling practice.
Rain, the traitor who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
I glared at him, and he took a step behind Coach Hill. His red hair gleamed in the sunshine and he was pretty cute, but I was too mad right now to appreciate that. There were as many squares set up in the parking lot as players, so we wouldn’t be getting out of this training, not even for a single minute.
“We’re not twelve,” I called out to Coach Hill.
He winked and waved. “Are you sure?”
There was some laughter, and I crossed my arms.
Coach Hill shook his head at me, and the other guys spread out to stand near the practice areas. “Basics. Don’t think you’re too good for them. We’re doing this for Wystan. He’s fast as fuck, but I’ve noticed some of his stick handling is sloppy, and you’re a team. You could all use some brushing up on these skills.”
I glared at Wy, but everyone else just chuckled and groaned, and Withers patted Wy on the shoulder while Wy smiled and shrugged. Why wasn’t anyone giving him dirty looks and bitching him out? What the actual fuck? I felt like my head was going to catch on fire as I started moving through the most tedious stick-handling drills of my life. As if I didn’t know how to laterally handle a stick. This was horseshit.
It didn’t take long for me to get bored.
Wy had taken the spot next to me, advancing around to new squares each time Coach Hill blew his whistle. There were different arrangements. We were surrounded by eight pucks, and we had to smack them with the stick without moving them, depending on which direction we were supposed to be pretending the puck came from.
“Hey, Birdy,” I called, using my stick to tap the corners of the square I was in as fast as I could.
Wy stood tall and turned toward me, still standing in the block of pucks he was working on. Coach Hill had his cell phone out and pressed to his ear, so he hadn’t blown the whistle to send us around to the next spot.
“You’re so bad at handling sticks even Coach Hill noticed.” I laughed and made sure it sounded as obnoxious as possible. A few of the guys turned to look at us, but no one said anything to me.
Boss shook his head and winced.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were an expert stick handler,” Wy called back with a lazy grin. “I don’t think I’ve noticed you doing anything that great.”
My face heated as the guys chuckled. None of these jokes were new, but the way he glared right back at me made me want to swallow my tongue. Had he not liked it when we’d fucked? Not many people knew which way I swung because it wasn’t really their fucking business, and I’d started this bullshit with Wy. Would he out me? Why did things never go the way they should when he was around?
“Stop talking and get back to work. Switch!” Coach yelled. He blew his whistle, and I flinched at the high-pitched blast.
We all hustled to the next spot.
It was ridiculous that we spent an hour and a half working on beginner’s shit, but I did feel like I was moving easier by the time we were done, so even though I was irked it probably hadn’t been a total waste. Hell, if Wy had simply been part of the team and I’d been captain, I might’ve even talked to Coach Hill and set this up myself. I would’ve wanted to invest time in him as a solid player. I was stuck in the weird position of feeling guilty and pissed off all at once as Wy shot me another smirk while we stood dripping sweat in the parking lot.
“If your stick handling has improved, maybe you’ll get more playing time,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
My cock twitched and I grunted as he sauntered away from me.
“Let’s huddle up over here and talk strategy,” Coach Hill said, and Rain popped the lid on a red cooler at his side, then started handing out cold bottles of water. “Tell me, did you get through our playbook yet, Wystan?”
Wy flushed and nodded, but then waffled a hand in the air. “I’m still in the memorization process. I know the standard plays, but the more personalized ones that you have in the book are taking me a minute to get stuck in my head.”
Coach Hill nodded like he was impressed—but fuck him. I’d created some of those plays. I waited for everyone to get on Wy’s case for not knowing them yet, since he was supposed to be our captain.
