Page 4 of Unlovable Player

“I know of him, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Despite the light-hearted chuckle, I note him readjusting his tie and wonder how much he’s heard about me.

“Things will be different now you’re both playing on the same team. Donoghue has quite the competitive spirit, but it’s a good thing when he’s on your side.”

I force my best Sunday school smile. “Yes Sir, can’t wait.”

Coach and Assistant Head Coach Reid lead me down the corridor, pointing out their accolades, and yeah, okay, when it comes to hockey, these guys are impressive. They’re not Ivy League, not even close, and we’re a long way from the sprawling classical architecture of Yale, and the stink of New Haven old money, but isn’t there something liberating about that? Isn’t that what I’ve been wanting? I guess if it didn’t feel like such an obvious punishment I might be able to enjoy it a little more.

I make sure to keep the grin on my face as Coach opens the doors to the locker room and I step in behind him.

Everyone stops talking the second he steps inside, a hush falling over the room of guys in various stages of undress. I keep my eyes averted so I don’t get accused of checking anyone out.

“Listen up everyone,” Coach Wilson says. “I want you to welcome a new teammate, you might recognize him from our games against Yale-”

The muttering started as soon as they laid eyes on me, now it’s getting so loud I can make out certain words likehimandfuckandno!

I lock eyes with Donoghue and his face is like thunder, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Coach puts his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t have any doubt you’ll make our new teammate feel welcome here.”

Ooh, he’s even better at that emotional manipulation thing than my mom.

I throw my bag in a free cubby and start undressing, pretending I’m not aware of all the eyes trained on my back.

There’s someone standing particularly close and I take my time before turning around.

He stares me down, taller than I thought he would be out of his skates.

“I’m Donoghue, the captain.” He sticks his hand out like it’s a challenge and I take it. Nice firm, dry handshake, my dad would approve.

“I know who you are.” I turn back to my cubby and start pulling my shirt off. “I beat you in eighty percent of our face-offs last season.”

The room is so still and quiet you could hear a pin drop.

I laugh and shake my head. “You’re still so bad at reading me.”

When I glance up again, his jaw is set and I swear he’s gritting his teeth.

“Well, you’re on our side now, so you can bring that asshole energy to the other team.”

There are snickers and I’m momentarily shaken. Donoghue has won every award there is to win at the junior and collegiate level for exemplary sportsmanship. I know, I Googled him. He’s a fucking boy scout I’ve only ever seen wearing a hockey jersey and a game day suit. Now here he is, standing in front of me in a ratty black hoody with the name of some obscure band - I think - on the front, shit-talking me. The little tuft of messy hair he usually tidies up or shoves under his helmet sticking out. And he’s even hotter than he looks behind the cage, when he’s practically growling at me during the face-off – that I usually win because he’s a fucking boy scout who won’t rush me instead of going for the puck.

Okay, so maybe I miscalculated and he’s not a boy scout? Maybe he’s actually a bad ass who I shouldn’t mess with? And in that case, it’ll be even more fun to mess with him.

“Sure thing Captain.” I pull my practise jersey out of my bag, but before I can put it on, Donoghue snatches it off me.

“What the fuck is this?”

Cursing again? Definitely not a boy scout then. And with a sexy Jersey accent too.

“It’s a practise jersey? You know, the one you wear when you’renotplaying a competitive game?”

Donoghue’s nostrils flare and I suppress a smile. I need to take my time, build up to making him explode. Though this might be easier than I thought.

“It’s gotYaleon it.”

I take it back and hold it out in front of me like it’s the first time I’ve seen it. “Huh, so it does.”

---