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“Out of all of the mugs in the cabinet, you chose the penis one, huh?”
My head swivels, and my eyes rocket to hers then down to the thermos. Once I reach the stoplight, I pick it up and rotate it in my hand until the golden, basically glittered, penis glints in the growing sunlight.
“Son of a bitch.” I chuckle and glance back at Laney, who is now laughing heartily. I shrug and take another sip that burns the tip of my tongue.
“Ivy makes it hot and strong. She works a lot of graveyard shifts,” Laney explains.
“Yeah, I may have insulted her coffee habit.” I wince and give her a sideways look. She shakes a finger at me and chuckles as the light turns green.
“You never insult Ivy’s coffee. I should have warned you,” she says.
We reach the edge of campus and I pull us into the athletics lot near the gym and the infamous bank of locker rooms. Laney hops out and slings her bag onto her back so fast it’s as if she’s trying to cover up the fact that she was ever in my Jeep to begin with.
“If you’re here late, I can give you a lift back to the house,” I offer as I get out and grab my gear.
She glances around and turns to face me as she walks backward. “I think I’m good,” she says.
I give her a crooked smile and level her with a glare, my head leaned to the side.
“Nobody will accuse you of liking me just because I give you a ride,” I call out after her.
She snaps and points at me then lets her arm drop to her side before she turns and jogs toward the practice gym, her braid swinging opposite of her hips like some devil’s hypnosis. I hold in the tempting quip about offering other types of rides too. But I think about it—I think about it for the rest of the damn day.
I’m notsure if it’s because I was well-rested for once or Ivy’s dangerously potent coffee, but I was flying on the ice this morning. I’m not even gassed after breakouts and passing work. I’m literally whistling to myself as I lumber through the locker room on my skates when Coach calls me into his office.
I pull my skates off and slip out of my pads before popping my head around the half-opened door.
“You wanted to see—” I catch my tongue when I spot the two men in the office with him, both with KC Spoilers branded polo shirts on. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
“No, come in Cutter. You’re part of this.” Coach Przynski is a big man, and he wears his white beard and mustache thick and rounded around his chin, which only adds to his girth. He skated for the Polish national team about three decades ago, and apparently his temper is famous. He’s an amazing coach, but my goal is to always be on his good side. Even though he’s inviting me in, I can’t tell for sure if he means it.
“Cutter, this is Duane Moore and Mark Shell from the Spoilers organization. They’re going to be at a few of our games this season.” Coach waves me toward them, probably because I’m still hanging by the door like a frozen child who caught Santa eating cookies. The Spoilers are a level below the league my brothers are in, but they’re close to home.
I shake their hands and pray they can’t feel the sweat on my palms.
“Sorry for the unprofessional look. I just got off the ice,” I say, running my hand over my head and feeling what is probably a matted-down nightmare of hair.
“We’re used to it, Cutter. Nice to meet you,” the older one says. I think that’s Duane. “Coach P. says you’re quite the leader. You have this team in line for a title this season perhaps,” he says through an expectant, toothy grin.
“Oh, well . . .” I glance to Coach and his wide eyes signal me to go along with this. “That’s the hope. It’s for sure the plan. You get out of it what you put in, and this squad works hard. I try to lead by example I guess.”
The two men chuckle and exchange glances while my eyes dart from face to face trying to get a read on if I said the right thing.
“You were right about his modesty. That’s refreshing,” the one I think is Mark says. He’s shorter, and has an ironic mustache that twists up on the ends. If I were already signed or if he didn’t have any power over my future, I’d tell him it isn’t working for him.
“Thanks. I hope you get to see some good hockey. Our first series should be pretty intense,” I say. What I don’t add is that I’m not sure we’ll win it. We’re missing a few key guys still from injuries, and Chuck hasn’t been himself on goal.
“Good. We look forward to it. Well, you might see us around a lot, and we just wanted to make the official introduction and let you know. We’re watching you.” Heavy words from such a funny mustache. My stomach tightens and my throat dries. I try to swallow but it only makes me want to cough. I hold it in and press forward.
“That’s great. I mean . . . great,” I stammer in the voice of a junior high boy.
“Hit the showers,” Coach says, ushering me out the door and saving my ass from ruining this whole thing.
Most of the guys have cleared out, so I take my time and really let the hot water pelt my skin. I feel almost manic I’m so excited. I can’t wait to call my mom and text my brothers, but I’m also freaking starving. I finish up my shower and jog out to my Jeep to drop my gear off and grab my school bag before heading to the cafeteria for the all-you-can-eat omelet station. I’m rounding the corner of the gym to head into the dining hall when the back door swings open wide and Laney storms out, her cheeks red and eyes puffy. I stop feet away from her and her hands ball into fists at her side when she turns to face me.
With teeth gritting and eyes burning into mine, she lunges into me and shoves my chest with open palms. I’m glad she relaxed the fists because fucking hell that was a lot of force.
“Whoa, Laney what’s?—”
