Page 5 of Play the Game

He’s young, though, and testy.

The refs have already had to break up four fights, and he’s been in the middle of each of them.

My sights are lasered onto center ice, and I flex my jaw as I wait for the face-off.

Malaki skates over to me, and I can already tell he’s got some jab up his sleeve. “Now listen…if someone is manhandling me out there, I expect you to pull an ‘Olson.’”

I act unperturbed. “And that is...?”

Malaki chews on the end of his blue mouthguard and can hardly get the words out without smirking. “When you pick someone up and throw them…just like you did at that bar last spring.”

My features are unwavering behind my mask, but I want to pick Malaki up and throw him. If I were in practice, I’d do just that.

“Get away from me before I throwyou.”

Malaki starts to skate off with his laughter following him. Before he gets too far, I tell him he better win the face-off, or I really will throw him.

It isn’t surprising when he wins it. The puck squeezes out to the left, and a rush of adrenaline pulls my focus. I feel lethal. My mask is positioned correctly, my stick feels light in my grip, and my eyes follow the game. I mentally can’t pull away, even if I tried.

Energy flows to my fingertips when the Florida Fins swipe the puck from us and head toward their zone. My heart skips, and an amusing growl leaves my chest when they advance me.

I fucking dare you.

My right hand flies upward, and the crowd roars.

Block.

“Try again,” I mutter.

Rhodes sends me a tight nod, and it’s as much of a compliment as I’m going to get from him, so I put it away in my pocket for later.

The rest of the game is the same as the beginning. Our defense needs some serious tweaking because by the end of the game, I’m spent. My shoulders ache with tension, and my thighs are shaking from the quick maneuvers I had to use to block the pucks. One out of forty-one shots got through, and I should be elated that we won, but I’m pissy about the one I let slide past.

My team comes over and pats me on the helmet as a way of sayinggood game,and I nod at each and every one of them. Florida has already gone into the locker room with their tails tucked in between their legs. The fans are rowdy and banging on the glass as we head toward the locker room.

“Bro,” Kane snickers under his breath when I pop my helmet off and meet his face. “They have handcuffs.”

“What?” The word is clipped coming from my mouth.

I scan the crowd and purposefully lock my jaw so it won’t hang open at the audacity.

Fans are on their feet with their eyes set on the team, and though some of them are waving blue and white pom-poms andannoying-as-fuck noisemakers, there is a hefty number of them waving handcuffs while shouting,“Olson! Olson! Olson!”

Rhodes skates past. “Take it as a compliment,” he gruffs before continuing on.

Malaki can hardly keep it together. “Some of the women are wearing fuzzy ones, just for you, man.” He joins the crowd with his stick held up high above his head. “Olson, Olson, Olson!”

Jesus fucking Christ.He’s egging them on.

“Do you want me fucking to throw you?” I snap. “Because I swear to god I will.”

Malaki stops skating right before we enter the opening to the ice. “Why does that girl look so familiar?”

Someone laughs from behind. “You’ve probably seen her in your dreams.”

“Wait, isn’t that the stripper? The one who knew all about hockey? We quizzed her the other night.”

I can’t help but look at Malaki like he’s an idiot. “While she was stripping, you quizzed her?”

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