Page 42 of Puck Prince

Is it way more likely this is because I just announced in a moment of panic that I am dating his niece?

For fucking sure.

I sprint up and down and back up the ice, weaving, passing, and skirting ahead to whip in a goal once the puck catches up. If I fall short or miss the shot or he just doesn’t like how I look while I’m doing it, we start over.

I swing at the puck with every bit of energy left to me and watch it fly, nestling its way into the top right corner just out of reach of Kason’s glove. Coach blows the whistle, and I hit my knees in pure exhaustion.

“Showers! And tomorrow, we do it again, so don’t go getting shitfaced tonight. I’m talking to you, Thatcher.”

“Jesus, you have one too many Jell-O shots one time and suddenly, you're pegged the team drunk for life,” Lachlan mutters as everyone clears the ice.

I am still on my knees, working fiercely to catch my breath. I can feel Coach’s eyes on me. A moment later, I hear him exit. The sound of the rink door closing behind him feels like the whole stadium is scowling at me, too.

If I’d known that “dating” Callie would mean I’d be smeared into an unrecognizable stain across the ice for the foreseeable future, I would have come up with a better lie. Or, even crazier, just told the truth.

But something about listening to Callie get ripped for something she didn’t even do hit me the wrong way.

So, I did what I always do: acted without thinking.

I came, I saw, I conquered. Or I made things even worse.

Something like that.

I struggle upright and slump my way out, bypassing the locker rooms. As much as I need a shower, I don’t feel like facing the annoyance of my teammates, too. Coach Coleman was obviously in a wad today, and his wrath was aimed at me, but that doesn’t mean the other guys didn’t catch some of the crossfire. I’m sure they’d have a few somethings to say about it if I gave them the chance.

So, I won’t give them the chance.

Twenty minutes later, still reeking of sweat, I limp my way from my car into the complex and stagger over to the elevator. There’s a yellow sign posted on the front of the door.DOWN FOR REPAIR. USE STAIRS.

Fuck you, too, Universe.

I climb the two flights of stairs, looking practically geriatric as I do. At least avoiding the elevator means I’ve avoided running into Callie. I still haven’t figured out how to explain my life choices from earlier. She looked every bit as surprised as Coach when I grabbed her and?—

“What in the actual fuck is the matter with you?” I look up to see Callie standing in front of—make that “blocking”—my door.

Scratch that. Bullet not dodged.

I hold out a hand, wincing at the movement. “Listen?—”

“No,youlisten. What happened to ‘there’s no us?'”

“I know.”

“Or ‘there’s nothing between us?’”

“I know.”

“Or ‘we don’t know each other?’”

“I fucking know, okay?” I bark out. “Look, I panicked.”

“Obviously!”

“And it was kind of stupid.”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

I grit my teeth. I don’t need this right now. I need to think. I need a shower hot enough to melt my muscles off the bone and a beer followed by a long nap.

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