Page 13 of Game On

CHAPTER THREE

By seven the following morning, Jamie had lost every ounce of relaxation he’d managed to find with Dorian. As he walked into the Vancouver Orcas’ practice facility on the University of British Columbia campus with Coach Shore for morning skate, easiness fled and was replaced by what he thought he’d feel if he were starting a new school in the middle of the school year.

Cliques would’ve been formed, the list of inside jokes would be a mile long, and roles would’ve been assigned. Class clown, teacher’s pet, know-it-all, suck-up, future Prime Minister, throws the best parties, has the best snacks.

Jamie was being plunked into all of that without any prior knowledge aside from what he’d read online.

Player bios didn’t paint an accurate picture, though.

Jamie had never been traded, but he’d joined new teams several times in his hockey career. Not once had he ever felt this wave of nervousness. He knew it was a result of how the Cobras had treated him after his breakup with Scott, yet knowing where it came from didn’t help settle his roiling stomach any.

Could he rewind to last night and his easy conversation with Dorian over slow-cooker chili and cake jars? Given Coach Shore’s parting “Be nice” comment, Jamie had expected Dorian to be... well, he didn’t know what. Not easy to talk to, for one thing. Not surprisingly thoughtful either. Dorian hadn’t had to schedule dinner so early to accommodate Jamie being on East Coast time. Hell, he hadn’t had to cook at all.

And why had he had to look like a delectable wet dream in that damn crop top? It had shifted every time Dorian moved, making Jamie’s mouth water. And those harem pants shouldn’t have been sexy, but they made Dorian’s legs appear endless. Jamie had gotten distracted more than once during dinner.

Dorian had been asleep when Coach Shore had arrived to pick up Jamie bright and early. Dorian hadn’t been asleep when Jamie had gotten up to pee at three in the morning, though. His bedroom door had been open, the bed empty.

Was he a night owl?

As Jamie and Coach Shore approached the locker room, voices drifted out of it. It was the sound of hockey locker rooms everywhere: conversations, shit-talking, and laughter over music meant to get the players pumped up. Currently, “Let’s Get It Started” by Black Eyed Peas blasted into the hallway.

“They’re a good group,” Coach said now as they neared the locker room. “I don’t tolerate bullshit, but if you have any trouble with anyone, come to me directly.”

“Sure.”

“Honestly, you’ll probably have more trouble with Dorian.”

Jamie frowned. “He made me dinner last night.”

Coach side-eyed him, one eyebrow raised. “You must be special.”

With such a deadpan delivery, Jamie couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Squaring his shoulders as they neared the locker room, Jamie buried his nerves under seventeen layers of imaginary hockey pads and forced a smile. The past six months since he and Scott had called off the wedding had made him a little gun-shy when it came to teammates, but he refused to let his trepidation show.

What was it people said at New Year’s? New year, new you?

Well, this was basically his version of that. New city, new team, new Jamie.

A fresh start.

Except Coach Shore didn’t lead Jamie into the locker room. Instead, he motioned Jamie toward a nondescript door, which led into an office occupied by the team’s assistant coach and skills coach.

That was anticlimactic as fuck.

Like Coach Shore, Assistant Coach Li and Skills Coach Stanton, whom Jamie recognized from his research on the Orcas, were dressed down in track pants and Orcas-branded hoodies for morning skate.

Channelling the Jamie Jamieson from six months ago, Jamie held out a hand. “Coach Li. Coach Stanton. I’m Jamie Jamieson,” he said, introducing himself before Shore had a chance to. “Good to meet you both.”

“Glad to have you on the team,” Stanton said. As a retired NHL player himself, he was as built as Jamie, even several years into retirement. Tall and brown-eyed, with messy brown hair and several days-worth of scruff, he had a smile that said you shouldn’t take me seriously.

An act, of course. He never would’ve made it to the NHL or been hired as an AHL coach if nobody took him seriously.

“Glad to be here,” Jamie replied, a thrill of anticipation and excitement finally zinging their way through his bloodstream.

The Charlotte Cobras were currently seventh—out of eight—in their division.

The Orcas were first and tied for third in the league. And they wanted him on their team.

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