Oskar, a gangly kid from Virginia, panted for air as he gestured toward Trinsky’s group with his stick just as another boom of laughter ricocheted off the rink walls. “Are they even playing hockey?”
Denny glanced over his shoulder. “I hope not, ’cause we’re going to scrimmage them in a few minutes, and only one of us will be ready to kick some butt.”
“And that will be us,” I assured them.
These early scrimmages were supposed to be fun. We saved the competitive ones for the end of the session after the kids had acclimated to camp life, time away from home, and the thrill of meeting and playing with pros. So I really wasn’t sure why I got so aggravated with Terren, the right winger who randomly made himself a D-man and the goalie who hovered in the net instead of the crease.
I didn’t yell. Much. I shouted a stream of reminders in a positive tone that fooled everyone…except Trinsky.
He sidled up to me at the coach’s bench and grabbed my flask out of my hands, one of those reusable ones with an air-tight lid and a slotted tab ideal for hot drinks or plain ol’ water. “Not the league opener, Milligan.”
“I know,” I grumbled, my gaze snagging on his handsome profile.
“Okay, you forgot your role. You’re supposed to be pissed that I stole your mug from under your nose, but I’m still holding it, Jakey. Someone’s gonna notice if you go sweet on me,” he singsonged, raising the flask above his head.
He was right.
I put a hand out, eyes on the action on the ice. “Give it over.”
“Beg me.”
I growled as I turned to him. “Give me the fucking water, Trinsky.”
His slow-moving, mischievous grin was pure trouble, but I was strong. I wasn’t going to be distracted by those pretty green eyes or that dimple or?—
“Fine, but take a drink. You need to cool off.”
True. I gamely tipped the flask back, wincing as the top fell off and a full cup of ice cold water hit me in the face.
“Trinsky, you dick,” I sputtered.
He winked. “You’ve been pranked.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and dried my face on it, shaking my head ruefully. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example, asshole.”
“Me? No way. That’s your job,” Trinsky said loudly for the benefit of the coaches nearby. Then he slid his hand under my elbow and leaned in, his breath ghosting my earlobe. “Got a few stares on the ice. Punch me and make this look good.”
I shoved him instead. “Cool it. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
He made a mini production of picking up the clipboard I’d left on the bench, eyes lowered. “I know, but it’s pretty awesome too.”
It was. My heart was tripping over itself at the thrill of being so close to him. The smell of my shampoo lingered along with a trace of his aftershave and a hint of sweat. I wished I could lean in and lick him. I wished I could rub up against him and run my hands down his rock-hard body.
“Yeah. I might like it more if I wasn’t dripping water,” I groused without heat, my arm glued to his.
Trinsky snickered. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. If you’re too nice to me, everyone will wonder if there was an alien invasion or?—”
“Christ, our D-man is a tad aggressive. He reminds me of—” Denny stepped to my right and did a double take, his eyes narrowing at my freshly watered look. “What happened to you?”
“Trinsky.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a smile from blossoming out of nowhere. Mason noticed and pinched my arm as if reminding me to stick to the script. So I added, “Fucking asshole.”
Denny pulled a face and sighed. “You two are impossible. Don’t we have enough teenagers to deal with?”
I snarkily agreed that it was too bad Trinsky was immature. Trinsky thought it was sad that I had chronic “stick-in-the-mud-itis.” I told him he was ridiculous, to which he replied, “I know you are, but what am I?”
We went back and forth until I finally walked away in a faux huff. It was that or I’d burst out laughing and give us away. As it was, Denny was probably wondering how we’d lasted in the same building for so long.
Every coach and kid on that ice knew we didn’t get along. They no doubt assumed we were in the midst of another PRsituation that required us to put up and shut up. And maybe that was sort of true. The rest was…well, it was ours.
