Page 152 of Waiting Game

Berg skates in front of me, looking as if he’s got shit under his nose. I grin and pucker my lips then smack ‘em together. The asshole reacts like I stuck my tongue down his throat—he wishes.

I waggle said tongue before the whistle blows, my mouthguard back in place, but Berg’s too busy being offended to win the face-off, so as the puck drops, it’d be rude not to take possession. I pass it back to Deschamps who spots Liam at the Tampa Bay blue line.

True to the moniker of the early days of his career, he flies like Peter Pan toward the goal. Highly aware that the clock is ticking and that we are in the last minute of play with a man down, I rush the net to crowd their goalie as Liam ordered.

Through some inspired stick work, Liam takes aim at the top left corner of the goal. One wrist shot later, the puck beats the buzzer and gives us the win.

“What was that?” I roar in Liam’s ear.

He pulls that DeNiro move that Gracie made earlier but his grin is wider than the Cheshire Cat’s. “She said to do what Bradley can’t. I listened.”

“What can’t he do?”

He winks as he slaps me on the shoulder. “Coach.”

With a 3-2 win, two points for us and zero for Tampa Bay…in Liam we fucking trust.

And twenty minutes later, when I lock the door to the locker room so none of the coaching staff can get in, a roar of cheers explodes as we celebrate the win that one of our own drafted.

If Bradley threatens us with more bag skating in the morning from the other side of the door, that’s not enough to dampen our mood.

The only reason we open up?

Because Gracie asks.

Nicely.

If tonight’s stunts didn’t severely damage Bradley’s ego then my name’s not Cole Korhonen.

CHAPTER 29

COLE

“That was so irresponsible,”I mutter when Hailey Pirenzi accosts me in the tunnel outside the locker room. “I was concentrating.”

“Irresponsible is locking your coach out of the dressing room. Anyway, you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“For a reason.”

She dismisses that with a frown as she scans me up and down. “What’s with this ensemble, Cole? How many times do Ihave to send you clothes from Nordstrom for you to wear the damn things?”

“I never like what you send me,” I reason as I stare at my jeans, shirt, and oversized sweater. “What’s wrong with my outfit anyway?”

“It’s pink and purple. Those brands I send over would like to use you in their campaigns.”

“Yes, and I don’t agree with their ethos. Fast fashion is destroying the earth,” is my pious reply.

“Bullshit. If I threw some bright blue pants in there, you’d be A-OK with whatever I sent. I’m telling you since you started playing with the Stars, your dance card floweth over.

“Why aren’t you answering your agent’s calls, Cole? I’m starting to get offended.”

I stride a few steps ahead of her toward the exit where I sign a couple of the waiting fans’ memorabilia. Only when we’re outside do I answer, “Because I’ve been busy.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Sure it is. I’ve decided not to worry about sponsorships this season.”

Her brows lift. “Why would you make a foolish decision like that? You’re at the peak of your career.”

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