Page 20 of The Stud

Not hockey.

Ironically enough it helped bring that average up.

Sometimes I think if I would’ve intervened a little more or a little harder like that with Becks, he’d still be here.

On this team.

In our sport.

Not debating whether or not to interview for bullshit podcast host positions.

“She can finally move in with me,” his glee continues to pump out of him. “Again.”

“Again?”

“We lived together back in college.”

“Why didn’t she move with you when you signed?” My head cocks itself to the side in question. “Didn’t wanna live in Texas?”

“Nah.” A bit of the brightness in his stare immediately dulls. “Health shit.”

Concern instantly coats my gaze. “She’s good now, aye?”

The shrug he offers is half-hearted. “Better.”

“Where is fucking Potato?” shouts Thomas Ewers, our assistant coach, to the group. “And that other call up, Payne?”

“Med,” replies Cap during his slow skate over to my side. “Pre-season piss tests.”

Ewers grumbles his understanding and hits Coach with a questioning look. “Wait?”

“How long, Cap?” Blanc tosses out.

“Pyat'.” Almost instantly he grunts to himself as a reminder to translate. “Five minutes. Tops.”

“We’ll wait,” Coach casually declares presenting me with the perfect opportunity to do something I can hardly believe I’m gonna do.

My attention flies back to the younger dude on my right. “Can I ask you something about your sitch with Wings?”

“Neena,” he firmly corrects. “OnlyIcan call her Wings.”

“Right.” Both glove-covered hands fly up in surrender. “My mistake.”

A small boyish grin precedes him kicking his chin at me, wordlessly insisting I continue.

“Was it love at first sight between the two of you?”

An uncomfortable chuckle is accompanied by an even more uncomfortable scratch to the back of his neck. “Uh…for me it was.”

“And for her?”

“Probably not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I was…fucking…weird, man,” he confesses right above a whisper. “And awkward…and clumsy…and just…a…complete pylon.”

“What changed?”

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