Page 43 of Shots on Net

“Ugh,” he rolls his eyes and repeats his earlier sentiment: “Show-off.”

“That’s a lot of attitude for someone who is fully reliant on me to remain upright,” I note, and he smiles.

I take him around another couple of times before bringing us to a slow, controlled stop by the boards. He loosens his grip on my hands, like he’s going to reach for the wall instead; I don’t let him go. The whole point of doing this was because I knew we’d be touching the entire time. He lets out a long sigh and smiles up at me. Those eyes are going to be the death of me.

“Okay, so that was more fun than I thought it would be,” he concedes. “Also, as if I wasn’t already impressed with you, now I’m really impressed. You make this look easy, during your games. Nobody watching would ever think ice skating is hard.”

I can’t help but smile, my insides practically glowing with the praise. I’m not someone who needs attention or approval from the masses, but it certainly feels good to get it from Zeke. Reluctantly, I let go of his right hand and wait for him to grab ahold of the wall. I make sure he’s stable as he steps off the ice before I follow. He wobbles, a bit, when he goes to sit down.

“Geez. Now walking on solid ground feels odd,” he laughs, shaking his head and bending over to unlace his skates.

“Yeah,” I sit next to him, “you’ll probably be pretty sore.”

“My legs already hurt. I’m not all fitness-y like you are,” he jokes, and presses his shoulder against mine. I lean against him, pleased that he is comfortable with this sort of contact.

We go to return our skates and the girl at the booth wishes me luck in the game tonight. I grunt in acknowledgement and trail after Zeke to the parking lot. He looks amused; I narrow my eyes at him, frowning. One corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smile.

“That girl is a student at SCU. We’ve had some classes together,” he explains, although this doesn’t really explain anything at all.

“So?”

“She’s part of a sorority, and unless I’m mistaken, by this time tomorrow half of the school will know that we just had a very romantic morning together.” He adopts a breathy tone. “Me the hopeless nerd, and you the big strong hockey player who has to skate backward in front of me and hold my hands. I mean…the romance of it all.”

He puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, pretending to be overcome with emotion. Scowling, I give him a shove. He snorts with laughter.

“Stop it,” I tell him, and he laughs harder.

“I’m serious. There is going to be a hit out on me tomorrow; I’ve taken one of SCU’s most eligible bachelors off of the market.”

I know he’s only joking, but I like the words he’s saying. I wonder if I need to tell him that I am off the market, for as long as he and I are dating; with or without sex. I’m a one person at a time kind of guy.

“I think you’re overstating things a little bit. I’ve never been one of SCU’S most eligible bachelors,” I tell him, as we climb into my car. He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me. “I’m serious, stop laughing.”

“Carter, you really have no idea how you look, do you?” He’s angled toward me in his seat, still looking amused. “Trust me. Just because you were looking too scary to approach doesn’t mean people haven’t wanted to.”

“Okay, well, regardless,” I shift, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has taken, “I don’t want to date anyone else, but you. Just to make that clear.”

I’m focusing on driving, so I can’t see his reaction to this. The air in the car feels weighted, all of a sudden, and I clench and unclench my fingers on the steering wheel a few times. I hate this talking about feelings shit; I wish we could rewind and go back to the easy conversations we shared at the skating rink.

“No, me either,” Zeke says, and I glance over at him. “You and me, huh?”

“Yeah,” I agree, “you and me.”

???

Coach Mackenzie looks pissed. Granted, he often looks pissed; tonight, though, his mouth his set in a firm line and his eyes are narrowed nearly to slits. During breaks in play, I’ve glanced over and seen him stalking back and forth behind the bench, like a panther with a toothache. I wonder if he’s mad at the team in general, or mostly just me. Looking up at the scoreboard, I adjust my mask. We’re being handed our worst loss of the season, so far: 1-5 and it’s only the second period. One of the referees skates up to me.

“You good, kid?” He’s leaning on the crossbar of the goal, face close to my mask so I can hear him over the volume of the stadium.

“Fine,” I respond, even though my knee hurts and we’re fucking losing. He eyes me like he can tell I’m lying.

“Period is almost over,” he says, and I nod. He’s giving me a well-timed reminder that in a few minutes I’ll be able to sit down and take a break. Sometimes, the refs are the unsung heroes of hockey.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking over his shoulder to see Coach Mackenzie watching us. He looks like he’s chewing on rocks. “I’m good, man.”

The referee skates off, signaling to Coach as he does that I’m fine after that goalie interference. Tapping my stick on each of the pipes, I bend over and rest my forearms on my legs. Vasel’s line is on the ice now—thank god—and I’m hoping we can put another point on the board before the buzzer sounds. A deficit of four points is a lot, and I’m scared Coach Mackenzie will pull me soon if we don’t close the gap.

He keeps me in for the remainder of the period, but I have a sick feeling in my gut as I skate to the bench at the end of the period. Our offense is putting in the work tonight, but nothing is finding the net. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the opposing lines. I feel like I’m letting the team down as we trudge down the chute to the locker room for intermission. Nobody says anything to me, or looks at me weird, but I feel like they are. Or should. After all, I’m the one who let in those goals, not them.

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