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Cole cracks my door and peeks through. “We’re about to head out, you ready?”
I hop off my bed. “Yep, ready.”
We’re all walking to the rink together, where the team bus waits to take us to this afternoon’s away game against Rutgers. Once Cole’s out of my doorjamb, I place my sketchbook in my closet and close the sliding door. Downstairs, all the guys at the Ice Box are gathered except for Tristan.
“Tristan!” Hunter cups his hands around his mouth and calls up the stairs. “Stop jerking off and get down here!”
Tristan appears around the corner of the hallway, slinging on a sweater. “I wasn’t jerking off, asshole. I was on the phone with Kennedy.”
“That last piece of info sure doesn’t convince us that you weren’t jacking off, bro,” Hunter quips, earning him an elbow to the stomach from Tristan as he walks by to the door.
Kennedy is Tristan’s girlfriend. They met last year while working together. They hated each other at first—or, more accurately, Kennedy hated Tristan, for good reason since he can be an arrogant, obnoxious fuck when he wants to be—but eventually fell so deep in love it’s sickening.
At least, I used to think so; but for the last couple months, what used to make me cringe about those two makes me jealous …
There’s a harsh wind whistling through the air as we walk to the bus as a group. Thankfully, there’s a table set up outside the tour bus with a couple big jugs of hot coffee and bag of Styrofoam cups taped to the table to keep the wind from blowing it away.
We each pour ourselves a cup and pile into the bus. Ryder and Grant, who now live outside the Ice Box in their own apartments with their girlfriends (fiancée, in Grant’s case) are already there.
We all shoot the shit as the bus fills up with support staff, athletic trainers, and assistant coaches. Coach Gordon is the last to enter.
“Alright, everyone, listen up!” His voice booms stridently from the front of the bus.
Immediately, our conversations cease, and we all turn our full attention to him. That’s the kind of respect Coach Gordon commands, from all of us.
“We’re about to go onto enemy turf and play a tough opponent. Rutgers has been one of the best teams in the league so far this year. And we’re about to beat them.”
That draws whoops of excitement and shouts of affirmation from us, until Coach puts up his hand and silences them instantly.
“But before we focus all our attention on today’s game, I have a quick announcement I need to make. For the rest of the semester, we’re going to have a student working with our social media team. She’ll be around pretty regularly.”
His gaze sweeps over all of us, and there’s a strict steeliness in it that’s impossible not to notice—impossible not to feel.
He continues. “You all know the rules. No dating, or any other extra-curricular fraternization, with anyone working with the hockey organization in any capacity.”
Coach lets that sink in for a beat of silence.
“That’s always been the case. I know you’ve heard it your entire time here. But this time, it’sespeciallythe case,” he says, his voice growing sharper. “Because this time, it’s my daughter.”
My heart slams against my chest. Zoey’s going to be working with the team? She’s going to be aroundpretty regularly?
“Is that understood?” Coach asks, his voice firm, clearly expecting there to be only one answer to that question.
“Yes, Coach,” everyone answers in unison. My mouth moves to form the words, but my voice dies in my throat as I’m still stunned by the announcement.
“Good,” Coach says, his gaze resting heavy on all of us for another beat, as if to drive home the point that anyone who would dare ignore this warning would be doing so at their own peril. “Alright, let’s get our minds back on winning the game.”
As the bus pulls out of the parking lot, Hunter, who’s sitting next to me, leans over and asks me in a low voice, “Have you met Coach’s daughter yet?”
“No,” I immediately and sharply respond, like my leg kicking up from a reflex test at a check-up. But I realize, of course, that I actually have met Zoey in a way I don’t have to lie about. I correct myself, “I mean, yeah, I have. Coach introduced us at the rink after the Virginia game. And she’s in my Psych class.”
“Huh,” Hunter says, a heavy and ponderous tone in his voice. When I don’t take the bait and respond, he lets out a long and thoughtful “Hmmmm.”
“Pondering something fascinating over there, Hunter?” I ask in a low voice. “Like how to work out two-digit addition?”
“Just interesting how you immediately snappedNowhen I asked you if you’ve met Coach’s daughter, when you’d already met her not once, but twice. And you said no so quickly and vehemently, too. It’s interesting, is all.”
I turn to him, a scowl carved into my face. His faux-thoughtful expression cracks into laughter.
