Elliott shrugged. “It’s a waste of effort when I’m trying to get ready for this game.”
Mal looked surprised. And for a second, like he might actually smile, but he didn’t, and Elliott told himself firmly that he wasn’t disappointed.
This wasn’t a tactic. As far as Elliott was concerned, this was the new norm.
He watched as Mal and Ramsey exchanged confused glances.
Hesitantly, even though Malcolm McCoy had probably never hesitated to speak the truth in his whole goddamn life, he said, “You know Bend has that really aggressive defender. We need to make sure we’re staying on-play. Don’t let him bust it up.”
“I saw the film,” Elliott said steadily, not retorting wildly, the way he wanted to, that he wasn’t stupid, that he’d been playing hockey for a hell of a long time too, and that he didn’t need Malcolm’s advice.
“Then you know—”
“That he’s going to want to play one-on-one? Close? I know.”
Mal exchanged another glance with Ramsey and nodded. “Okay, then. You know the game plan.”
“We’ve got this,” Elliott said firmly. Confidently. But notover-confidently, in the way that typically pissed Mal off.
“Uh, yeah. We do.”
Mal slunk off to his side of the locker room without another word.
Ramsey turned to him again. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded.
“What?” Elliott asked even though he knew exactly why Ramsey was incredulous. That kind of exchange would’ve usually fueled a pre-game bickering session that might’ve evenlasted all the way through warmups and sometimes even into the first period.
Elliott pissed off that Mal felt he needed to be reminded of basic facts and in response, picking and pecking at all the soft spots in Mal’s usually tough armor.
Ramsey just shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe after all this bullshit that you’ve put all us through you’re just going to slink off with your tail between your legs and not eventry.”
“That’s—”
“Enjoy fucking your way through the boys of Portland U. Save the men for me,” Ramsey said, and after tossing that last bomb, strode off.
“Fuck him,” Elliott muttered to himself.
But the thought remained with him through warmups.
Did he always go for the easiest hookups? The guys most like him who didn’t really give a shit if he said yes or no? Who’d just move onto the next if he wasn’t interested?
Washe afraid of a challenge?
No, he fucking was not.
He’d not be on this hockey team, playing on the first line as a sophomore if he was afraid of hard work. Of getting his hands dirty.
But even that anger at Ramsey seemed to fizzle out almost immediately after their first face-off.
Mal handled it, as the senior guy on the team, and flicked the puck his way, as the enormous giant who would probably be shadowing him the whole time he was on the goddamn ice practically blanketed him.
But Elliott was faster. Quicker. Much more agile.
He skated around the defender, shifting the puck with his stick, keeping it away from the giant.
The moment his body was angled right, the guy shoved a gloved fist into his side, away from the view of the ref. Elliottgrunted but took the hit in stride because he’d known it was coming. He skated around the back of the goal, looking for his opening with the goalie. Didn’t see anything he liked the look of, so did another one. Still with the giant hot on his ass. He was annoying, sure, but it was extra annoying how Mal kept moving into his field of view, frustration etched on his face.
Like he wanted Elliott to take the shot, even if it was a bad one.