Our captain, Booker Zabek, is here on borrowed time. That guy could’ve gone pro this summer, but since he never entered the draft, he hasn’t gotten nearly the attention that guys like Dutton Wagner at Woodcock have gotten.
We have one year left with Booker and we need to make the most of it. And that’s not just me giving my buddy his due. That’s a fact. Coach knows it, too. Our best shot at making it all the way back to the Frozen Four this year—and coming away with a win—is with Booker leading the way.
Lucky for us, he’s not the only star on the team. If we were missing one piece last year, there’s a solid chance Will Franconetti is it. Our new recruit is a fucking phenom on the ice. And kind of a disaster off it if Ollie’s got it right.
“Dude. Frankensteini crashed and burned hard last night,” he tells me as he hops on the treadmill next to mine.
“Nope. Don’t do it. That’s the worst fucking nickname ever.” I say, because somebody has got to keep this guy in check.
“Fuck you,” he laughs. “It’s perfect. He’s a big motherfucker and his last name’s Franconetti,” Ollie shrugs as though I’m the one who can’t put two and two together and get four. “Get it? Franconetti, Frankensteini.”
When I don’t answer, Ollie just keeps going. “It’s clever as shit,” he says, congratulating his own ingenuity. “But I’m not one hundred percent sold yet. These things take time, you know?”
I nod, like he’s got my sympathy or at least my agreement, but I don’t share Ollie’s passion for nicknames. It borders on obsession, really. The guy’s superstitious as hell and he’s got himself convinced that if we don’t call each other catchy little nicknames, we’re not a legit hockey team.
When he starts in with that noise, I usually point out two birds and mutter last season’s record under a cough.
But I’m in a good mood today. It could be attributed to the incredible sex I had last night, but I prefer to think it’s because we’re about to start one hell of a season.
Ollie’s chattering away and I’m barely keeping up with his story until I hear a few key words.
“‘A dying jellyfish’ those are the exact words she used. The fuck? I mean, I haven’t kissed the guy, but that’s brutal.”
I trip over my own damn feet. My entire job is coordination and flexibility. If all goes as planned, some team is gonnapay me the big bucks someday simply because the control I have over my body is unmatched.
I guess it’s a good thing there are no scouts in this weight room.
Ollie’s rambling on about the party last night, lamenting Will’s lack of swagger. I’m just glad he’s so wrapped up in our new teammate’s love life (or lack thereof), because he doesn’t even comment on my near face-plant.
“It was wild, Brick. Chelsie came upstairs ranting and raving about some guy being a waste of a hot body. I thought nothing of it, cause I knew she wasn’t talking about me. We hooked up freshman year, and she was definitely not complaining. Anyway, I brushed off and figured she was just being dramatic, you know? Then I saw WillPower and the guy looked wrecked?—”
I’m hitting my stride, my feet firmly beneath me, as I level Ollie with a glare. “Hell, no. WillPower? Christ. That’s way worse than Frankensteini.”
Ollie smirks. “It’s growing on you. Admit it, you secretly love my nicknames.”
“Nope,” I answer, turning back to my screen to start my cool down.
“Lies,” Ollie scoffs. “Anyway, Will looked dejected, so I put two and two together. I wasn’t gonna share my theory with the class or anything, but then he came looking for a margarita and spilled his guts.”
I nod, feigning disinterest. “That’s harsh.” Ollie’s moving on to some other drama from the party and I’m only half paying attention, becauseholy shit. The poor sap in the bedroom who was getting a verbal beatdown from the sorority girl is my freaking teammate.
Granted, I just met the guy yesterday, so we haven’t exactly bonded, but still. If he’d walked out of the bedroom in time to see me holding Maggie, he’d have definitely recognized me. And that would have definitely freaked her out. It would have blown the whole secrecy thing to smithereens.
Not that it matters now, I remind myself.
Because Maggie and I are nothing to each other. She made that abundantly clear with her disappearing act.
I huff a laugh to myself. So many people in my life have pulled disappearing acts that I should probably start to wonder if I’m the problem.
Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, the timer on my watch beeps, letting me know our meeting’s about to start.
I’m not getting on Coach’s bad side, so I hop off the treadmill and mope the sweat from my face and chest. I’ve got enough time to pull on a fresh shirt and get some water.
“See you in there,” I say to Ollie, tilting my head toward the locker room door.
Ollie startles and looks up at the clock with anOh, shitexpression on his face.
I laugh to myself as I head to my locker.
