Page 8 of Power Pucking Play

Gio

The sharp slice of my skates against the ice drowns out the chaos in my head. Practice with the Chicago Blades grounds me, even as I'm almost certain that my phone is buzzing incessantly in my locker. I'll deal with it later.

Right now, I need to focus on hockey.

And I'm sure as hell doing a shit job of it today.

"De Luca!" Coach bellows from the sidelines.

I glance up. "Yeah?"

"Mind getting your head in the game and out of your ass?"

I grit my teeth but nod, skating back into position on the ice. I push harder, my muscles burning as I race down the rink. The satisfying thwack of my stick against the puck echoes through the arena.

"Nice shot, Gio!" Jacob calls out.

I nod in acknowledgment, circling back for another drill. The familiar rhythm of practice helps quiet the nagging voice in my head.

The one that keeps replaying snippets of that night.

Soft skin. Breathy sighs. Silky thighs.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories. Lexi Brookes is off-limits. And the bane of my goddamned existence.

Always has been. Always will be.

Even if I can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine.

I get back in the zone, losing track of time, of my thoughts, of myself. Until Coach finally blows the whistle, signaling the end of practice.

"All right, that's enough for today," Coach announces. "Hit the showers."

I peel off my jersey, feeling the cold air hit my sweat-drenched skin. I grab my phone from my locker and see a barrage of texts and missed calls from my agent.

And my sister.

Shit. I dial her number.

"What's up, Gabs?" I say, bracing myself for whatever crisis she's calling about now.

"Finally! I've been trying to reach you all morning," Gabi's exasperated voice filters through. "Everything's been confirmed."

I frown, toweling off my sweat-drenched hair. "Confirmed? What are you talking about?"

"The feature, Gio. ForSports News Now. You're going to be their cover story."

My stomach drops. "What feature?"

"The behind-the-scenes one we discussed last month, remember? That great opportunity to make yourself look like less of a walking, talking penis?"

"Wow. Penises must have gotten much better looking in my thirty-one years of life to warrant such a compliment."

"Shut up, Gio. This is serious." Gabi pauses. "You're going to do it, right?"

I vaguely recall agreeing to something, but the details are fuzzy. Probably because I was three beers in at the time.

My agent Aaron Connelly's words come back to me in a rush. I remember now how he convinced me it would be good for my image. Good for sponsors. Good for the team.

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