Page 282 of Well Played

“Kid, they’re locked,” an amused voice calls out a split second after my brain reaches the same conclusion.

“Yeah, I see that. But why?”

“Can’t you read? Let me guess, you’re a hockey player.”

“Was it the big stick that gave it away?”

“No. It was the low IQ.”

I turn as anger flares through me, ready to confront the rude tosser. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the one you don’t want to upset if you want any ice time this year, son.”

Gritting my teeth, I inhale through my nose and count to three before forcing a grin onto my face. I don’t know who this guy is, but clearly, my fate rests in his hands right now, and I need to tread carefully.

“Sorry. I’m still a bit jetlagged from my flight. I’m new, and I’d really like to get some time on the ice to practise for hockey tryouts.”

The man cocks his head at me. “They’re tomorrow morning, aren’t they?”

“Umm, Tuesday morning I believe.”

“That is tomorrow.”

“Shit. Then Ireallyneed some ice time. Can you let me in? Please?”

“No can do, today, I’m afraid. Rink’s shut for private practice.”

“What? For who? If it’s the team, I know Coach will let me in.”

“There’s more than just the hockey hooligans who need to use this space, son. If you want to stay on my good side, you’ll remember and respect that.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Come back tomorrow and try again. The rink’s booked solid this week, but if you get here at five when we open, the skater might let you share her slot.”

“Skater?”

“Figure skater. Name’s Vesper. She’s damn good and trains harder than anyone I know. Every single day she’s here at five a.m., with a coffee and a smile for me, too.”

Of course it’s a figure skater fucking up my plans. Travel to the other side of the world, and I still can’t escape their poison.

Sighing, I know that I won’t get anywhere with this guy, so I take the hint and nod once. “Noted. And how do you take your coffee?”

“That’s up to you to figure out.” He gives me a toothy grin and wanders off.

I wait a beat to ensure he’s not coming back, then try the doors again. Still locked.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

This messes everything up. Now what am I going to do? Tryouts are tomorrow, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll get ice time beforehand even if I am here for that five a.m. opening.

Who the hell gets up that early to skate, anyway? When I met coach Rhys, he gave me a rough timetable for the team’s training, and there was nothing on there about early mornings. Hell, there’s early morning, and then there’swhy even bother going to bedearly. And a five a.m. start is definitely in the latter category in my books.

I peer through the glass in the doorway and see the blur of a figure skater whizzing past, moving far too quickly through my limited slice of vision to discern any details or features about who she is. But at least I have a name. Vesper.

As my slightly unfounded anger rises once again, I vow that I won’t allow another figure skater to get the best of me. This one,Vesper, whoever she is, is on my radar for all the wrong reasons. And maybe I’m bringing old wounds to a fresh fight but that doesn’t matter. If this entitled little princess thinks she can steal all the rink time just to fuck around spinning and twirling, she’s got another thing coming. Therealathletes need to train, so she better get out of the way, or she won’t know what’s hit her.

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