Page 7 of One More Time

“I am good, but there’s nothing to outshine. Tyler may be faster than me, but I still out-skate a lot of players in the NHL. I have some scouts watching me, and if I’m captain of a winning team, that looks a hell of a lot better than a losing one. So, get your attitude in check and try to get along with him. For the sake of the team.”

I groaned, trying to think how I would survive an entire season with Aussie.

“How do I become friends with him if he won’t come to a single party?”

Colton smiled. “Just give him time. We have our first game next week—we can try and drag him to an after-party then.” Then just before he skated away, he added, “And stop grinding your teeth.”

I rolled my eyes, not liking my chances. Though he managed to hide it from the rest of the team, I could see right through his lies about parties. I didn’t miss the way he bit his lip or how his brow creased in the middle when he talked about them. Even during some of the locker room talk about women, his hands would clench into fists. Maybe he had someone back home, or perhaps he just didn’t appreciate women being talked about like simple pieces of meat. I wasn’t too fond of it either, but sometimes you had to play along—survival and all that. Like many of the guys here, this was my last year of hockey, and the key to success was undoubtedly getting along with the team.

Having my locker stall beside him was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I could knock into him as much as I wished—which was every chance I got. I couldn’t decide what I liked more: the side-eye he gave me or the daily frown. However, the guy had a body any man—straight, gay, or otherwise—would die for. Seriously, he had to have zero body fat.

The week leading up to the first game—when my focus should have been on that and only that—my attention seemed to fixate on Mr. Australia. He quickly made himself at home, and I couldn’t miss his attempts to find his team identity. He seemed to be a guys’ guy—except when it came to me.

After another practice, I walked past him, deliberately bashing my shoulder into his. I heard a grumble, but he never bit back—which was disappointing. For some reason, I decided that needed to change—immediately.

“Something to say, Aus?” I taunted.

“You’re not that big. Watch where you’re going.”

“Not that big.” I had half a mind to show him exactly how big I was, but you know, locker room etiquette. I stood a whole five inches taller than he did and was a hell of a lot broader. The urge to crowd him against the wall grew with each passing moment.

“Sorry, mate,” I smirked. “Didn’t see you there.”

His eyes fell to my mouth. “Just stop bumping into me. We’re on the same team here. No need to be checked, yeah?”

“Just didn’t see you.” Lie, lie, lie.

“Just like you didn’t see the puck in stick-handling drills,” he said sarcastically before heading for the showers in an effort to keep avoiding me.

I went out of my way to stay close to him. "Noticed my stick-handling skills, did you?"

“I notice nothing about you, Boston, other than you have a tendency to run people over when it’s not needed.”

I hum and get ready for a shower, only to notice him turn and leave without showering.

“Something wrong with the shower?”

“I’m going to shower in my dorm.” He said in a hurry.

“Aw, feeling shy, Aussie??”

“The only thing I’m feeling is annoyed.”

He was gone before I could get in another word.

Colton walked in and sensing the tension, gave me a warning glare. I responded with my heart-stopping smile. There was something about making Tyler Riley feel anything towards me that got my blood pumping. His perfect game with his perfect eyes and his perfect hair may do nothing but piss me off, but I loved getting under his skin.

My need to irritate him lingered throughout the week. But when it came to our first game of the season, we were all determined to showcase that we were the team to beat. Tyler’s easy-going nature took a different turn. He was still friendly, yet he clearly wore his game face.

And we came out on top.

I was in the zone, and though I wasn’t too sure about the Aussie at first, he stepped up—big time. His on-ice chemistry was next-level. It was like he could read my mind. He knew every move before I made it. I’d had my eye on him since we first crossed paths. It was like that one simple touch put him on my permanent radar. Communication was almost unnecessary. I knew I could sling any pass his way, and he’d respond flawlessly. The energy was electric. You could feel it in both of us, especially when that final buzzer sounded and that victory grin spread across his face. I got swept up in the joy, like a moth to his damn radiant light.

“Man, that was awesome!” I exclaimed, giving him a pat on the back.

“I’ve never had that before! Nothing was ever that quick—that effortless,” he admitted with a slight grimace.

“Oh god, please never tell my team I said that.”

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