Page 74 of What If I See You

I’m a kick ass hockey player and I know it.

She’s been to home games over the last couple weeks but when we’ve had one-nighters away, she’s stayed home so she can get work done or look for a new full-time job. I know those things are important to her and I don’t want to take her away from being able to rebuild her life the way she wants it. But having Layken here now, watching me play, only adds fuel to my inner fire.

I pat Bodhi on the back and tell him, “I understand that might have made you nervous at one point, Pickle Pants, but I’m good. I can play hockey in my damn sleep. Come on, we’ve got a game to prepare for.”

And with that I step out of the tunnel and onto the ice.

And fall flat on my fucking face.

WHACK

“Fuck!”

What the?

The guys enter the ice, chuckling as they skate around me.

“Watch your step, Griff,” Ledger warns.

“Hey, yeah,” Harrison adds. “The ice is slippery, bro.”

“Wow, Layken must’ve done a real number on you, huh?” Oliver teases.

I take one second to glance up where the ladies are sitting and notice that they’re all watching me now.

Fucking great.

Because this isn’t embarrassing as hell.

“Yeah thanks, assholes,” I say as I bring my foot back to the ice and hoist myself up.

And slip and fall all over again.

“Mother fucker!”

I try again and again and again to get myself up and with each try, I slip and fall.

On my knees.

On my hip.

On my side.

It’s like my legs are fucking jelly and my skates are…

Hold up…

My skates…

“I swear to God…”

Already seated on the ice, I slide myself over until I’m against the wall so I can sit up and inspect my skates. Sure enough, when I lift my foot up to inspect the blade, I find that they’ve been taped with clear tape.

“Son of a goddamn bitch,” I mumble. And then I shout, “Alright, who’s the fucking prick who taped my skates?”

The guys have a hearty laugh at my expense and then Bodhi skates over to me, blowing ice in my face when he stops himself. Then he bends down, smiles at me, throws me a fucking wink, and says, “Just wanted to say thanks for the pickle pants, Slippy Griffy.” He kisses his glove and then taps my helmet before skating away to rejoin the team.

“Well played, Roche,” I concede, shaking my head at my own misfortune and laughing at Bodhi’s payback for the prank I pulled on him last season. “Well fucking played.”

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