Page 31 of Pucking Only

CHAPTER TEN: HEAT

SKYLER

I adjustmy chair and focus on my computer screen, which is a maze of variables, functions, and algorithms, each line carefully constructed to bring my fledgling virtual world to life. I'm working on the AI for the players, ensuring they move and react just like their real-life counterparts.

The challenge is to make each player on the ice act independently yet cohesively as a team. I tweak the predictive positioning that dictates how a player should react in different scenarios, whether it's a fast break toward the goal or a strategic defensive play. I want them to have the same instincts, the same split-second decision-making abilities that I observed during the Night Hawks' practice, so I added some basic coordinated movement components.

Tying in a few lines of code, I proceed to run a simulation to see how the character objects respond. On the screen, the avatars skate across the digital rink, executing plays with varying degrees of success. One player makes a quick pass, but the timing is off, and the puck sails past its intended target. I jot down notes, analyzing what needs to be adjusted.

My flow is interrupted when my computer pings, indicating an email has come in.

Groaning in frustration, I click out of my work and bring up my email.

Ugh…it’s from Samuel. No thanks.

Another email comes in just as I’m about to delete the one from Samuel. This one is from Mr. Ferguson. Damn it. Can’t really ignore this one.

Skyler,

I wanted to touch base regarding your progress. Will you be able to meet the deadline? From what you’ve sent me so far, I’m starting to question if you'll be able to complete this in time. If that is the case, then I’d like you to let me know sooner rather than later so that I can offer more resources to Samuel.

G. Ferguson

Irritation pours through me. He’s already assuming I’ll fail? What a dick! It will be so satisfying when my game is done and blows them all away.

After sending my reply, where I assure him oh-so-nicely that everything is going well, I sit back in my chair and stretch my neck from side to side. I’ve been working all day, focusing on my work so I don’t have to think about what happened between Carson and me last night. Now, though, the memories come rushing back. Carson pushing me up against the alley wall, his lips totally dominating mine…the silkiness of his hair against my fingers…

I blink and then shake my head sharply. What ishappening to me? Why can’t I stop having these types of thoughts about him? I don’twantto want him.

My wandering thoughts are suddenly interrupted when there’s a loud knock on the apartment’s door. I jump up, startled, and a little panicked. Who could it be? Carson? Shit! I’m a mess. I’m wearing old black sweatpants and aHadest-shirt. My hair is a loose mess, all tangled up from combing my fingers through it as I was thinking and working. When a second knock sounds, I hurry to answer it. I look out the peephole and release a sigh of relief. Opening the door I’m greeted by Grace’s cheerful face. She is holding two bottles of wine and beaming from ear to ear. She’s dressed in a Night Hawks sweatshirt that’s clearly Jensen’s and way too big for her, along with black leggings, her hair thrown up in a messy bun.

“Hey!” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re having a girl’s night!” she exclaims, waving the bottles and moving past me to get into the apartment.

“A girl’s night?” I arch a brow in surprise and close the door behind us.

“We haven’t been able to spend much time together, just the two of us,” she states as she makes her way to the kitchen area to grab a bottle opener. “We need to have a check-in. A night to ourselves.”

“No complaints here,” I reply with a grin. I start opening cupboard doors, looking for the wine glasses. Grace steps in and grabs them out of a cupboard above the sink and pours us each a drink.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my free hand and leading me into the living room. “Let’s find something to watch and chat. We can order pizza later. Sound good?”

I nod. “Sounds great.”

Settling on the couch, we put onLove Islandto serve as the background noise to our conversation. Maybe watchingsomeone else’s drama unfold on TV will make me feel better about my own.

We chat about random things for a bit, and she updates me on our old roommates, Rylee and Sutton.

“Seriously? Rylee gets to go to the Super Bowl?” I shake my head, stunned.

Grace nods. “Yeah, ESPN has commissioned her as one of their photographers. She’s going to be right on the field.”

“That’s nuts! I can’t believe she’s already getting such high profile jobs.”

“Well, it helps that she’s got a huge Insta following that she’s been cultivating since we were freshmen,” Grace points out. “She’s been able to really build her brand as a sports photographer because of it.”

“Ah, the digital age and its wonders,” I murmur. “And Sutton? Have you talked to her lately?”

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