"Probably wants to run systems again," Connor suggests, not looking up from his skates. "Montreal's power play has been lighting teams up lately."
I settle at my locker, muscle memory taking over as I strip off my street clothes and reach for my gear. First the compression shorts and base layer, then the protective cup that's saved my future children more times than I care to count.
Speaking of future children...
The thought hits me out of nowhere, an image of tiny hands and hazel eyes and maybe a little girl with Mia's stubborn chin who'd rather rescue injured birds than play with dolls.
Whoa, Scott. Slow your roll there.
But even as I try to push the thought away, it sticks around like a song you can't get out of your head. There's something about last night, about the way Mia looked in my kitchen this morning, that makes the impossible feel suddenly possible.
Like the exact reason that I bought that house is starting to come to life. Even if I haven't got the renovations ready like I had hoped.
"Ryder!"
Blake's voice snaps me back to reality, and I realize I've been holding the same shin pad for the last two minutes without actually putting it on.
"What?"
"I asked if you heard from Sophia about the charity thing." He's studying my face with the intensity of someone reading last weeks game film. "The fundraiser for Saturday? The one you've been obsessing over for the past week?"
"Yeah, she texted this morning. Everything's on track." I strap on the shin pads and reach for my hockey pants. "Vendor tables are sold out, Lucy's got social media going crazy, and apparently half the town is planning to show up."
"Good." Blake nods approvingly. "Should be a hell of a turnout. Your girl's going to be impressed."
My girl.
The words send a warm flush through my chest, even though technically I have no idea if Mia's my anything after this morning's conversation. Or lack thereof.
But God, I want her to be.
"She's not my girl," I say automatically, but even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds.
Connor barks out a laugh from across the room. "Bullshit. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow written all over your face, rookie."
Heat crawls up my neck as half the locker room turns to stare at me with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter, focusing intently on lacing my skates.
"Please." Jackson speaks up from his corner, not even bothering to look up from his stick tape. "You look like someone just told you Christmas came early and brought you everything on your wish list."
"Maybe he finally grew a pair and made a move," Connor suggests with a grin.
"About damn time," someone else calls out, and suddenly the whole room is weighing in on my love life like it's some kind of team-building exercise.
"Alright, alright," Blake holds up his hands, but he's grinning too.Asshole."Leave the man alone. Even in the locker room, some things are sacred. At least for a few days."
He winks at me and I shoot him a grateful look, but my phone buzzes in my gear bag before I can thank him properly Coach Brody's voice booms through the locker room like a foghorn.
"Alright, ladies! Let's move!" Coach bangs a fist on the door. "Ice time starts now, not whenever you decide to grace us with your presence!"
We file out of the locker room in a wild stampede, skates clicking against the rubber mat that leads to the ice. The arena is empty except for a few maintenance guys and what looks like Sophia and Lucy huddled together in the stands with clipboards and what appears to be an industrial-sized box of promotional materials.
The ice gleams under the bright arena lights, perfectly unmarked for now, waiting for us to tear it up with drills and scrimmages.
"Warm-up laps!" Coach hollers from behind the bench. "Two times around, then we're running systems!"
I push off, settling into the routine of warming up. Long, easy strides that gradually build speed and get the blood flowing. Around me, the rest of the team spreads out across the ice, everyone finding their groove.
