Page 286 of Well Played

My brain finally logs on again and I choke out, “Yes! Yes,veryinterested! Thank you, man. I’ll make sure you won’t regret this!”

“You better. We’ll get you a copy of the training schedule and get your gear sorted. Got a number in mind for your jersey?”

“Yeah, sixty-six, if it’s free.”

Jace nods, and I grin. My heart’s pounding out a beat I could dance to.

Everything’s coming together. I’m on one of the best teams in the league, and if I keep this up, I’ll be a star player with my face on the posters outside the arena. No revenge plans needed. Not even for a certain figure skater who triple toe looped right onto my last nerve.

Guess I really do need to swallow my pride and apologise to her now. No excuse if I’m gonna be seeing her around here every day. I shouldn’t make things any more awkward than they already are. Would she even listen to me?

“Hey, sorry about the whole slamming you into a wall with a hockey stick. Good thing you can take a hit like a champ! I made the team, so no hard feelings?”

Oh yeah, that’ll go down so well.

Actually, now that I think about it, no. I’m not apologising. Fuck her rink-hoarding arse. In fact, she owesmean apology for taking all the slots. I’m gonna need them now more than ever, and I’m surprised no one else is pissed! What does she expect, booking extra slots every freaking day, especially minutes before team tryouts? I didn’t even hit her hard. She was just surprised I got the best of her. After all, she’s not the only one here with goals. If I hadn’t pushed my way in, I could’ve been sent packing like those Raiders guys.

Nah, if the little ice princess doesn’t wanna share, that’s too damn bad. It’s about time someone taught her a lesson.

6

Vesper

As I makemy way downstairs from the studio, freshly warmed up and stretched from an hour of ballet, and enter the rink, my heart sinks at the sight before me. Tarak, decked out in his hockey gear, is already occupying the rink, weaving effortlessly between the goalposts as he practices his shots. His gear is supposed to be intimidating, his presence casting a shadow over the otherwise serene ice. I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling within me like a cauldron of boiling water, realising that this isn’t just a simple clash of schedules—it’s an orchestrated invasion.

Jumping onto the ice, I skate over to him with determined strides, the crisp air stinging my cheeks as I come to a stop in front of him.

“What are you doing here? This time slot is reserved for figure skating practice,” I snap, my voice laced with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

Tarak flashes me a cocky grin, his piercing gaze locking onto mine despite the hostile stare I’m giving him. “Looks like there’sbeen a mix-up. But hey, since I nailed my tryouts, there’s plenty of ice for the both of us, princess,” he replies casually, his words dripping with smugness.

My blood pressure rises at his nonchalant attitude, amplified by the intimidating presence of his cohorts. “Is that what you did? I heard you got in by the skin of your teeth. And I don’t share the ice with puck pricks,” I retort sharply, crossing my arms over my chest.

There are only two of us here on the ice, so I shouldn’t feel outnumbered and outgunned, but his presence does just that, even though I refuse to be intimidated by him. I’m not scared, so why is my heart beating so fast?

He chuckles, a low sound that reverberates through the chilly air and is in no way friendly at all. “Who said we have to get along? A little healthy competition never hurt anyone,” he says with a smirk, twirling his hockey stick deftly in his hand, the metallic scrape of his blades echoing ominously.

I glare at him, fire burning in my veins, but beneath the surface tension and rivalry, there’s an undeniable spark between us that refuses to be ignored. With a mixture of anger and something else stirring within me, I take a step closer to him, my eyes darting between him and his hockey stick.

“Fine, let’s see who can perform better out here today,” I challenge, my voice never faltering despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach, acutely aware of the daunting odds stacked against me from the last time he body-checked me on the ice. “Try to avoid cheating this time. Figure skating is a non-contact sport.”

Tarak raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes as he shoots me a knowing look. “You’re on, Vesper. Let’s see your best moves,” he goads, setting up a puck on the ice and pivoting gracefully into position.

As we begin our respective performances, the tension between us slowly morphs into something akin to a dance. Our movements seem to mirror each other’s, like we’re reacting to unspoken cues admits the palpable threat of confrontation. It’s eerie, yet undeniably captivating, like the hint of danger adds an electrifying edge to our showdown.

Sweat glistening on his forehead, Tarak launches a powerful shot at the goal, and the puck leaves a trail of frost in its wake. I watch his every move with rapt attention, determined to outshine him despite the odds being stacked against me. With a leap, I execute a series of spins, my skates leaving behind intricate patterns on the ice, the pressure mounting with each graceful rotation.

The competition heats up, and as I land a particularly difficult jump, I catch Tarak’s eyes locked on me. His expression is filled with an intensity that surprises me, almost breaking the tension of the moment. For a moment, it’s as if we’re the only two people in the entire world, not just on the ice, and it feels like we’re somehow connected, like we’re sharing a secret.

As we continue to push each other, our bodies brush against one another, and the electric charge between us is undeniable. It almost transcends the animosity between us. It dawns on me then that this clash isn’t just about figure skating versus hockey, it’s not even about the ice time, it’s a battle of wills, a test of strength and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds.

The next thing I know, Tarak’s tossing his helmet onto the ice, and before I can react, his arms are around me, pulling me fiercely against him. I gasp in surprise as his lips crash onto mine with the same intensity he brings to the game. It’s aggressive, raw, like a collision on the ice.

It’s a shock, but underneath the anger, there’s a tangible connection that pulses between us, igniting something primal.

As our kiss deepens, my fingers instinctively tangle in his hair, gripping tightly, almost as if I want to pull him closer and push him away at the same time. He responds in kind, his grip on me tightening, his body pressing against mine with a force that sends a shiver down my spine. The heat of his desire radiates through me, stirring something unexpected within, something I refuse to acknowledge.

Breaking the kiss, we both stare at each other, breathless and bewildered by the intensity of the moment. Tarak’s eyes mirror the confusion and desire raging within me, a mixture of emotions that I can’t begin to unravel.

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