Page 9 of Home Ice

He winces and then swallows so loudly I hear it where I'm standing. Probably just because his mouth is so dry. "I never said I wasn't interested." His forearm tenses, and please give me the strength to not rub against it like a cat marking her territory. "I fucked up."

"That's being generous."

He takes a step toward me, but when I step back to match it, he stops and runs a hand through his hair. Drops of sweat turn rainbows in the sun as they fall to the pavement below. "I fucked up bad. But I—shit. Maybe I shouldn't ask again, but go on a date with me. I mean it. I meant it last time too, but I'm not taking it back this time."

Does he seriously think I'm a fool? "Absolutely not."

"You were going to say yes last time. I've thought a lot about it, and I know you were. What changed?"

He's probably so stuck on himself he thinks any woman with a functioning nervous system could never turn him down. "Never going to happen."

Something that looks like guilt passes over his face, but it's quickly replaced by resolve. "Never say never."

"Never." I say it slowly so he'll get the message, but he only smiles.

"At least tell me your name."

I start walking away without saying a word.

"Not fair. You know mine. Since I keep seeing you in your pajamas, I'll have to call you Pajama Girl if you don't tell me."

I shrug and keep walking. My back is still turned to him, but I know he hasn't moved an inch. I feel him staring at me. "That's a stupid nickname, but call me what you want. It's never going to happen, Brant." I emphasize his name just to drive home the fact that I know it. I might not know his last name, but his first is all I need to make him squirm.

CHAPTER 9

PAJAMA GIRL

BRANT

After my physical with the team doctor, I'm feeling great. She tested my rebuilt knee's strength and flexibility and found that it's slightly better than my right leg. I didn't bother telling her about the tiny twinge I felt when she had me do a set of side lunges. It was probably nothing. Not when I need her clearance to get back on the ice. I just nodded when she asked me if everything felt okay.

My chest expands as I walk into the dressing room. I look from the black carpet with the enormous yellow beehive dyed in the middle of it to the ceiling with the giant yellow and black wasp painted on the ceiling. This isn't quite home, but it's pretty close. And damn, I missed it last year.

The dark wood stalls circling the room are a blank slate for now. Each one is exactly the same except for the black and yellow name plate screwed to the front of the top shelf. But that will change soon. By the end of the day, almost everyone will have pictures of family taped to the sides or lucky tokens filling the shelves.

Two years ago, Kayden hung a sign in his stall that was written in Japanese kanji. He told us it translated to "You must possess the heart of a dragon to defeat a lion," and he insisted we line up and touch it for luck before every game. And we did. Until halfway through the season when Poppy actually looked it up. We had just lost 7-3 to New York, and we all sat at our stalls staring at the floor in silence. Suddenly, Poppy's booming voice filled the room. "This sign is a lie!" His Russian accent was so thick it took most of us a few seconds to understand what he said. But when he said it again, and this time pointed at Kayden's sign, we all knew.

He passed his phone around the room. I watched as it made its way closer to me. Heads would move from the translation app to the sign and back to the app. Some laughed and others shook their heads. When it got to me, I saw that the real translation of the sign was literally "this sign is a lie." To this day, Kayden still swears that every single translation app is wrong, and the seller wasn’t just taking advantage of him. And I still look for every chance to tease him about it.

I go to my stall at the far side of the room and sit while I wait for everyone to file in. I'm exactly in the middle, with everyone in front of me. Just the way I like it. Milo's stall is beside mine. He should be my competition. When I went down with my torn ACL, he became the starting goalie, and if he plays in camp the way he did last season, I'm going to have a hard time winning my job back from him. But I've never met anyone who didn't love Milo, including more women than I can count. Each one of them is disappointed when he flashes his wedding ring and refuses to even consider cheating, no matter how gorgeous they are.

It doesn't take long before the old familiar energy fills the dressing room. The others come in one-by-one after their physicals and equipment fittings. My old friends come up and clap me on the back when they see me sitting here. Sitting where I belong. Even the new players, who don't know me as well, greet me. I might have been gone for a season, but Salt Lake City is my home, and this team is my family. So I made sure that every new face met me and knew exactly what I expect from them for as long as they're on my team, whether I'm on the ice with them or watching the games from the suites.

"Oh, hell no!" Kayden is the last to come in. He stands in the center of the room when he sees me, arms crossed over his chest. "I told them they either needed to trade you this offseason, or I was finding a new team."

"Guess you better get packing then," I smirk. "I hear Denver is looking for a mediocre center. Sounds like a perfect fit for you."

He huffs out short breaths as he takes a couple of steps toward me. "Mediocre? You want to see mediocre? Someone get me a mirror, so I can show grandpa what mediocre really looks like. Better yet, I'll show you just how mediocre I am when we get to do some live-ice drills. And Denver? I'm sending one through your five hole for suggesting I'd ever go play for them. Never. Especially not while they have that fucking winger."

Denver has been our biggest rival since the Salt Lake City Sting was created in the league expansion a few years back. And ever since Serenity left me for their arrogant right-winger, Asher Sorenson, Kayden and I have hated them even more. It doesn't help that we only won one game out of four against them last season. The season when I couldn't do anything but watch as Sorenson shredded our defense. He was the only player who made Milo look like a backup goaltender last season.

Kayden smiles and drops our pretend argument as he closes the last few steps and pulls me in for a hug that makes my back pop. “Dude, you don't know how good it is to see you.”

"You just saw me last week."

"You know what I mean. Seeing you back here where you belong. In here with the rest of us. Isn't that right?" He lets go of me and turns, and our teammates whoop. I'll never admit it to any of them, but a lump forms in the back of my throat.

Luckily, Coach walks in and shuts it all down before it grows any larger. "You fuckers are way too excited for the first day of my camp. Think we need a bag skate this afternoon." He nods to an assistant coach who makes a note in the book he's carrying. We all groan. Anybody who's ever played hockey has learned to hate bag skates. The coaches just make us do sprints over and over until we vomit or until they're satisfied. And they're never satisfied if we don't have our hands on our knees while we bend over a trash can. Sometimes goalies are exempt. Sometimes they aren't. Based on Coach's scowl, I'll be right there beside my team later today.

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