Page 23 of Released from the Sin Bin

“To have some fun.”

Driving through the winding roads of campus, I head out onto the small highway that takes us into Briar Creek Valley. The park is closed with the only light shining on the statue that never turns off. I have to turn off my headlights to stay hidden, but I know my way through every curve like I know every inch of my dick.

Willa’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t complain. Curiosity of where we are has gotten the better of her as she takes in the scenery outside the window.

I stop in the parking lot of the indoor and outdoor rink. Noticing Willa’s thin sweater, I grab the key I had stolen a while back from the console to get inside.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” she whispers from behind my back, inching up on her toes to see what I’m doing.

“Trouble,” I scoff. “I never get in trouble.”

Not any real trouble. I get caught, scolded, and maybe held in a cell for a few hours, but that’s the worst of it.

I lead the way in and flick on some of the lower lights for us to see better.

“What size?” I hop the counter of the skate rentals and find mine.

“Seven,” she whispers over the counter, as if someone will hear us.

“You know,” I lean over to whisper back, teasing her for being scared, “no one else is here.” I smirk at her, trying to keep it together.

“Shut up.” She pushes me back from the counter.

“Sticks and gloves,” I announce as loud as my voice can go and head to the back to grab a couple of hockey sticks and pairs of gloves for us to use. “Pucks are under the counter.”

Willa is already on the ice when I come back out. I slip on my skates and grab a few pucks we can play around with.

I used to come here all the time to get away. I’d sneak out of my house after everyone fell asleep and ride my bike through the park. The park was quiet and peaceful, freeing me from my prison. Then I’d break into the rink and work on mastering anything new I learned, knowing I’d have to really heighten my hockey skills if I had a chance to get out of here.

Willa skates around the ice to test it out. Moving backwards and doing quick footed tricks that make her look more like a figure skater than a hockey player.

“Working on your axles?” I tease her. “They say it’s good to have a backup sport.”

She glowers at my teasing, but with a tick of her lips, she skates around me, pumping her legs to pick up speed. She flies up with a jump, twirling around and swinging her leg out onto a shaky landing.

I clap and cheer as she catches herself from falling forward.

“It’s been awhile.” She takes a second to catch her breath. “My mom used to dress me in tutus and sign me up for figure skating lessons at our local rink. That’s where I found hockey and started playing with the boys.”

“I think you missed your calling.” I wink, so she knows I’m joking. That little move she did was impressive, but it’s no match for the skills she has with a puck.

“Are we playing or what?” She rips the outstretched stick from my hand and gives my thigh a light slap with the toe of the blade.

I toss a pair of gloves to her and get mine on. Willa takes a puck and slaps it between the blade of her stick and skate. Expertly making quick, short passes before slapping it down past the crease to where a net should be.

I kick another puck to her and crouch down to get as low as I can in my stiff jeans. She takes her gloves off to pull back her short blonde hair into a ponytail away from her bright big blue eyes with the short ends still falling into her face, and cracks her neck to get ready. Flicking the puck out in front of her, she comes at me as I back away.

The puck moves right to left and back again. Stick, stick, blade, stick. She keeps the puck under her, maintaining full control. I follow it, waiting for my break to take it away. I get my stick in, but she’s quick to swat it away with her own.

“Keep an eye on my hands,” she says while keeping her pace. “You’re too focused on the puck.”

I try again, ignoring her advice.

“One. Two.” She counts it off, leans left, then a quick right. “Three.”

I stumble as she slaps the puck between my legs and skates around me to pick it up and score it past the goal line.

“Shit,” I grunt, and pick myself up.

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