Even crazier was the fact that I would never give something like that a second thought. Only at Parkside Candy had I seenJakob Martin up so close (when he didn’t have his fist in my face, that is), and never noticed that he possessed a perfect set of teeth.
I shouldn’t have noticed the dimples or the teeth. For that matter, I shouldn’t have noticed the twinkle in his eye. It was weird. I had no idea what it would lead to. God, I needed to wiggle out of this conversation before my mind really went off the rails.
“I can make this way easier for you,” Jax said. “The coach already warned us about getting into any more trouble with the Lions. He wasn’t joking around, and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah, Jakob got the same spiel from their coach.”
“But this isn’t a spiel, Zane. He was on the level. Hockey is serious business around here, you know that. All this rivalry stuff is bullshit—it’s good bullshit—but only if it doesn’t interfere with winning.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating to admit defeat, but I understood he had me licked.
“We need you on the team and in good standing if we’re going to win a title,” he said. “And you won’t be here if you get into it with Jakob Martin or any of the other Larkin Lions. It doesn’t matter if it’s at the Colter Bay Grill, Parkside Candy, or the freaking zoo. You know the coach would never bullshit anyone.”
Jax had a point—again. Dammit to hell.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Forget I brought it up.”
I grabbed my stick and skated back to center ice, leaving Jax Echlin and his stupidity behind. I understood my boundaries as our coach laid them out and understood the need to be available for the Riptides more than anyone. Weird things had happened to me since that night at the Colter Bay Grill. It wasn’t just getting laid out and later outsmarted.
As I swept up a puck and glided down the rink, I couldn’t banish thoughts of Jakob Martin from my mind, especially his smile, perfect teeth and dimples.
Don’t ask me why.
8
JAKOB
“Hey, Jakob, wait up!” I heard a voice call out when I slipped out of Spot Coffee on Elmwood Avenue.
At first, I thought I’d imagined it and kept walking. When the voice called out to me again, I stopped and sighed. I felt pretty sure I knew who the voice really belonged to (perhaps my real reason for ignoring the call at first) and wanted to avoid the conversation.
I heard a pair of feet pound the sidewalk behind me, and then it happened: Zane Hirst slipped into my path, blocking me.
Rather than engage him, I swept around him, continuing down the sidewalk, sipping coffee.
And Zane followed—big fucking surprise, huh?
This time, he jumped in front of me, looking like he was doing a little dance, and I tried to step around him yet again. Once more, he did all he could to remain the center of my attention. I waved him away, speeding up, hoping in vain to lose him.
“In a hurry to be somewhere?” he asked, scrambling to catch up with me.
“What’s it to you?”
“What’s it to me?” He chuckled the laugh of used car salesmen everywhere. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, bro. I thought we should have a little talk, that’s all.”
“Talk? Do we have anything in common?”
“Hockey.”
“Aside from that.”
“This might surprise you, Jakob, but we’re more alike than you realize.”
“No offense, pal, but you’re nuts.”
He paused and then flashed this surprised look like an idea had just struck.
“Oh wait,” he said, “you think I’m going to beat the shit out of you, don’t you? Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I’m not looking to do anything like that at all.”
