Page 15 of Wicked Serve

I wonder if she’s at practice right now. I’ll bet she looks fantastic when she’s in the middle of a volleyball match. Tight jersey, short shorts, those cute knee pads... If I saw her, I’d have to resist the urge to drag her over by the ponytail and lick the sweat away from her temple.

That kind of thinking isn’t doing me any favors, especially since it looks like she never wants to talk to me again, so I tip my head back.

Jesus. There’s even purple on the ceiling.

The rest of the campus seems nice, although I haven’t explored much beyond getting to class and... whatever this place is called. The Markley Center, I think. An assistant coach took me through the players’ lounge, the dry locker room, the main locker room, the practice ice, the arena—a sea of purple stands and a huge crown painted on center ice, in case I forgot where I was—the staff offices, the medical center, and the gym. There’s another gym that any athlete on campus can use, as well as a wellness center and a spa. Athletics has always been a strength of McKee University, and the facilities prove it.

I wish it were enough to make up for living in a dorm room again, and figuring out an unfamiliar campus, and getting used to a whole new coaching system. I’m off-balance and on edge, but at least I can swim in the athlete-only pool whenever I want. Lucky me.

Coach Ryder walks in, Cooper at his heels. Ryder’s pale blue eyes are like chips of ice, but they seem friendly enough. Even though I’m sure he hasn’t played in years, he looks fit, ready to lace up if necessary.

He shakes my hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure, Nikolai.”

I smile. I’ve had plenty of coaches since my father, and the first impression matters every time. “Same here, Coach.”

“This is Cooper—well, you two are acquainted with each other.” Ryder’s smile turns wry. “As you know, he’s team captain.”

Cooper looks different without his hockey gear on. I wonder if I look different to him as well. His dark hair is longer than mine, curling over the nape of his neck. We’re the same height, give or take half an inch, and I’d bet our weigh-ins are around the same, too. I keep a neutral expression on my face, even though I can’t stop thinking about the apology I owe him. Me and my fucking mouth.

After a beat, he sticks out his hand for me to shake. “Can’t say it’s a pleasure, but here we are.”

His blue eyes are the exact same shade as Isabelle’s. The second I notice that, my breath sticks in my throat. I return the handshake quickly.

“Here we are,” I echo.

“Have a seat, gentlemen. Let’s discuss how this is going to work.” Ryder gives each of us a long look, then sits back with a nod, as if we passed some sort of test. “Lucky me. Two of the top college defensemen in the country, and I can pair you on the same line.”

Cooper spares me a glance before saying, “Sir, what about Evan?”

“Evan can work more closely with Jean. I know you’ve had your differences in the past, but you’re on the same team now. We all have the same goal, and that means working together.”

Cooper looks as if he swallowed a lemon, but he just nods. I suppress my smirk. An unexpected bonus in this whole mess: seeing Callahan sweat.

“I’m expecting leadership from both of you,” Ryder continues. “You’re both seniors, and the younger guys will look to you for guidance. We’re lucky to have so many upperclassmen on the roster right now, in terms of our chances at getting to the finals again. If you work together to get the team culture to a good place, combined with clean play, we’re going to crush the competition.”

“Hear that, Volkov?” Cooper says.

“I ought to be asking you that.”

“Still sore about that punch?”

“Cooper, son,” Ryder says mildly.

Right, Cooper is dating Ryder’s daughter. Must be nice to have your girlfriend’s father call you “son.” I have no doubt that Coach runs his team the way he wants to run it, but I need to make sure I don’t piss off Cooper any more than I already have. The last thing I want is for him to convince Coach to cut my ice time in favor of someone else.

It’s for the best that I didn’t kiss Isabelle yesterday.

“I want you to clear the air,” he adds. “Do it now, before you’re on the ice together. This isn’t going to work without trust, and trust doesn’t come without honesty.”

At that last bit, he levels me with a look that feels more like an X-ray. For a split second, I think about Isabelle, but there’s no way he’d know about that, or—thank fucking God—what I said about his daughter before I knew who she was. He must mean the circumstances around my expulsion from UMass. And possibly the dozens of other insults I’ve hit Cooper with during the games we’ve played against each other.

Guilt gnaws at me as I think about what I said last year. Telling a guy that his girl looks like she’d give good head is never a classy move. And normally on the ice, classy isn’t what matters the most, but I should have reined it in.

Ryder drums his knuckles on the desk, then stands. “I’ll be outside. Don’t fuck up my shit, boys.”

When the door shuts behind him, I turn to Cooper. “I’m sorry for what I said about Penny last year. I didn’t realize you were dating, but regardless, it was stupid and dickish and crossed the line.”

I don’t dare add what I said about Isabelle. Hopefully he was so focused on what I chirped about his girl, he’ll have forgotten the asinine thing I led with: Where have you been hiding that sister of yours, Callahan? You’ll have to introduce me.

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