Page 20 of Rookie Move

“That’s what I want to hear. Lines are how we ran them during the last game, with Westie’s lineup first. Finn and Lachley, you’ll be on the ice for first shift. Their first-string goalie is still out on injury, as is their top winger. They’ll be out there fighting and we’re going to fight harder.” Bugsy paused and glanced around at a few of the guys. “Be smart about your plays to stay out of the damn box.”

“He means you, Pookie,” Baz said.

“Shut up, man,” Jake Northman said. “Only Darcy gets to call me Pookie, asshat.”

“Alright. Enough. Just be smart out there and come back with two points. That simple,” Bugsy said. “Warm-ups start in five.”

Desmond finished taping his socks and took another swig of his sports drink while he continued to bounce his knee. It was one of his tics. He was always a bundle of energy before he put his skates on the ice.

He stood up, grabbed one of his newly taped sticks, and followed the guys out of the room and down the tunnel to the ice. The music blared through the arena. Hard rock was always preferred to get everyone in the spirit. He took a quick glance around the arena. The seats were starting to fill with fans, and people were clustered around the glass with signs and their phones at the ready to take pictures of the guys.

They played just as hard during preseason, but regular-season games were different—and nothing compared to playoff games. But he was getting ahead of himself.

Harty knocked the stack of pucks onto the ice and fired the first one toward the empty net as Gally skated over to his home on the ice.

Desmond took a lap with some of the guys around their half of the ice before he got in line behind Finn to take his shot on net. After a few rounds of that, he dropped down to stretch his hips. He went through all the motions, one by one, like he’d done his entire life before every game, limbering up and getting in the zone.

His gaze scanned the ice, nodding to players on Calgary’s team that he’d played with on previous teams. The moves were almost robotic: stretching his hips, shifting on his knees, and twisting around.

He finished up his warm-up, going back to firing a few pucks on net before they headed off the ice. He tapped gloves with some of the fans hanging over the plexiglass, but his focus was on the game.

“Yes. Our mascot is here,” Baz said, drawing Desmond’s attention to just outside the locker room.

And there she was, crouched down on the ground, tucking another strand of hair behind her ear and talking to the puppy, who was desperately trying to jump on people.

He heard her mutterno peeingandno jumpingand he couldn’t help but laugh.

“If that dog pees on the ice on opening night, we’re going to have a problem,” Bugsy said, coming up behind them.

“Oh, Dad, he’s potty trained now. He might be a nervous pee-er, but we took him outside to get it all out of his system,” Rylie said, standing up.

Then the puppy peed.

“Biscuit, come on,” she said.

“Biscuit? Love it,” Baz said. “He’s the color of a perfectly golden biscuit, and it’s another name for a puck. Perfect choice.”

“It was suggested more than once, and we all agreed it was perfect.”

“Rylie,” Bugsy said.

“I know. Hopefully that’s the last of the pee,” she said as Edwin cleaned up the mess.

“It better be,” Bugsy grumbled before he headed into the locker room.

“Hey, Rylie,” he said, unable to ignore her any longer. He kept his voice low, to not draw attention.

“Hi, Desmond,” she said, fiddling with the leash in her hand. Biscuit tugged on her as if he knew she was anxious.

“Nice to see you again.”

“Umm. Yeah, you too,” she said, question in her gaze. “Have a great game.”

“Yeah, you too.” Then he laughed. Fuck. Why was he so damn awkward?

“What’s going on here?” Baz asked.

“What? Nothing. Well, I should let you guys get that final pep talk from Dad,” Rylie said.

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