Page 48 of The Pucking Player

Holy hockey sticks, she’s wearing my jersey, not Adam’s.Myjersey, on her body.

Is this real life?

The sight of her, my number eleven stretched across her chest, makes me feel like I’ve just chugged ten energy drinks and bench pressed a bus.

I puff out my chest, feeling like I could take on the entire opposing team single-handedly. Hell, I could probably fighta bear right now and win. That’s what seeing Sophie in my jersey does to me. It’s like someone took all my hockey skills, wrapped them in pure testosterone, and topped it off with a sprinkle offuck yeah.

But as I’m basking in this alpha-male glory, reality comes crashing down like a badly timed body check. I spot Coach Novak, and let me tell you, if looks could kill, I’d be flatlining faster than a puck off my stick. His face is turning an alarming shade of purple, somewhere between enraged eggplant and apoplectic plum.

Oh boy.

Suddenly, I’m not feeling so cocky anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just felt my testicles try to climb back inside my body for safekeeping. Guess it’s time to focus on the game and pray Coach doesn’t decide to use my balls as the puck tonight.

The Titans’ defenseman slams into me while I’m busy being a lovesick idiot. The puck skitters away, and suddenly we’re scrambling back on defense. Adam shoots me a look that could melt steel as he races past, clearing the zone before the Titans can capitalize on my fuckup.

Coach is going to kill me.

If Adam doesn’t get to me first.

I shake it off, trying to focus. But it’s like my brain’s stuck replaying the morning at the B&B instead of tracking the play. Sophie’s lips, soft and sweet. The way she smiled against my mouth. The promise to meet up soon.

“O’Connor!” Adam’s shout snaps me back just as the puck comes screaming toward our net. I dive to block it, barely deflecting it wide. Too close.

When I glance at the bench, Coach’s face is thunderous. Great. Sophie in the stands, Coach breathing fire, and herbrother looking like he wants to use my head for shooting practice.

Just another day in the life of a guy dumb enough to fall for Coach’s daughter.

I spot an opening and pass to Adam. He receives it smoothly, only to be immediately checked by Blake White, the Titans’ star defenseman. The puck slides free, and I’m on it in a flash, swooping in to regain possession like a hawk diving for its prey.

The first period is a blur of action. We’re matching the Titans goal for goal, neither team able to gain a clear advantage. As I skate back to our zone after a near-miss, I catch sight of the jumbotron. But to my surprise, it’s not showing game highlights.

Instead, the camera is focused squarely on Sophie.

She hasn’t noticed that she’s on the big screen at first. But suddenly, her eyes widen as she realizes all eyes are on her. A flush creeps up her cheeks, and she looks like she’s about to shrink into her seat. That’s when her sister leans in, whispering something in her ear. Sophie’s posture relaxes slightly, and she manages a small, nervous smile as she straightens her spine.

I try to focus back on the puck, but I can’t help noticing the commotion in the stands. Reporters are crowding around Sophie’s section, microphones extended eagerly. She looks overwhelmed but handles it with surprising poise, politely shaking her head and declining to comment.

With effort, I drag my attention back to the game. The puck is in play, and I need to concentrate. But even as I track its movement across the ice, a part of my mind remains acutely aware of Sophie’s presence in the arena.

During a brief lull in play, I overhear a couple Titans, White and Edwards, talking near me.

“Dude, is that O’Connor’s girl?” Blake asks, nodding toward the jumbotron.

“Yeah, his coach’s daughter. Talk about complicated,” Ken replies with a grin and a low whistle.

I smirk to myself. If only they knew half of it.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Coach Novak on the bench. His face is turning an alarming shade of red, his eyes darting between the jumbotron and me. He’s clearly fuming about the prolonged exposure of his daughter and her association with me, the team’s supposed Casanova.

I take a deep breath, trying to push all the distractions away.

The game. Focus on the game, man.

That’s what matters right now. I can deal with Coach’s wrath later. Right now, I’ve got a match to win and a certain pre-med student to impress.

As the referee blows his whistle to resume play, I steel myself. Game on.

The referee skates to center ice again, puck in hand. The crowd’s cheers escalate as he prepares to drop it. I lock eyes with Adam, giving him a quick nod. The Titans are coiled and ready across from us.

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