Page 20 of Face-Off with my Childhood Best Friend

“Oscar!” Nate yells.

The puck blasts towards me at lightning-fast speed, and I hook it with my stick, expertly maneuvering it towards the goal. I spin on my skates, my body moving in perfect synchronization with my stick, and unleash a powerful shot that sends the puck flying into the back of the net.

The crowd goes wild, cheering from the sidelines, when the puck finds the net again.

Nate slaps me on my back.

We’re winning, and our coach is happy. He gives me a nod, and mouths. “Nice work.” The game continues in full force.

They score again.

We match with a goal of our own.

Their men are struggling to keep us out of their zone.

“Get your heads together,” their coach barks at his team, his arm gesturing for them to get to the other side of the arena.

But as the buzzer sounds, the opposing team looks dejected, and we know they’ll be coming back harder in the next period if they want to remain in contention for the championship.

Our coach, watching from the sidelines, gives a proud nod of approval as our team exchange congratulatory slaps on the back as we skate off the ice to the cheering crowd.

First period and we’re winning.

The press room is jam-packed when I stroll inside. I had to see Nadia to organize our date before I went inside.

Journalists are already questioning the players about their performance in the game as I make my way to the table set up at the front of the press conference room.

Cameras flash.

I don’t turn to them. This is part of the game, but one I’ve never gotten used to. Some players love the limelight. I’m not one of them. I’m good with fans, but not with the press.

My father owns a sex club and many scandals have followed him because of it. I’ve learned not to get involved, and the reason I was so annoyed that a paparazzo found out I was in the restaurant with Nadia, and ruined our date.

I take my seat on the other side of Connor and take a sip of the bottle of water left on the table for me.

“Jaxon Polson, there is the rumor of you transferring to Chicago at the end of the seas. Is this correct?” the reporter asks. Jaxon plays for the opposing team, so while he’s answering I take out my cell, rest it on my lap while send a text to Nadia.

Me: I’ll be fifteen minutes. Dinner? In or out?

The coach for the team answers. “No, Jaxon is staying.”

Nadia: In. You looked so hot on the ice that dinner will be dessert.

Me: I turned you on?

Nadia: *sends an emoji with its tongue hanging out.*

I laugh lightly, but quickly clear my throat when I hear my name, and get ready to answer about the goals I made tonight.

“Oscar…” The male reporter starts as he picks up a magazine and walks to the table we’re at. He turns my way. “Is it right that you and model Nadia Simmons had a dinner date a few days ago?”

Gasps and chatter slowly fill the room as camera lights flash over and over.

“My private life is personal.”

The reporter smiles as he holds a magazine article in the air. I’m expecting a picture of us at the table, drinking Champagne, taken the night in the restaurant to be shown, but my heart drops when he says, “Do you know Dominic Logan has professed his love for her?”

As my apprehension builds, I tilt my head back, my gaze sweeping the ornate ceiling above. I take a deep breath.

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