Page 86 of In It to Win It

Uncle Mark brings us all in and we gather around him, leaning on our sticks while he gives us shit for a few more minutes. Then we start another drill, Dominic, our assistant coach, blowing his whistle to start us. I fucking move my legs as fast as I can, trying to set an example.

“That’s it, JP,” Uncle Mark calls approvingly.

Thank fuck.

Everyone else seems to pick up the pace as well. Nobody likes it when Coach is pissed at us and yelling. And goddammit, wedowant to win. Sometimes it’s hard to make the link between working your ass off in a practice and winning more games, but we have to do it. And Uncle Mark is even more motivated because he wants to beat the Condors—Grandpa’s team. Both teams can’t make the Stanley Cup final. And he wants it to be us.

So do I.

Never mind Grandpa and Théo . . . when it comes to winning, I want it.

I corral my thoughts and concentrate on practicing, doing everything I’m supposed to, working my ass off. I’m sweating and panting by the time we’re finally done. It feels good.

Uncle Mark claps a hand on my shoulder as I leave the ice. “Good work, JP.”

“Thanks.”

I can do something right.

But now that practice is over, I can’t shower and change fast enough because Taylor’s waiting for me.

We leavemy car in a parking garage a block off Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica and walk to the pier, Byron trotting happily along with us. Despite the chilly breeze, it’s busy on the pier, I guess because it’s Thanksgiving weekend.

I keep glancing at Taylor. She’s been quiet since I picked her up. Cute, but quiet. She’s wearing a puffy jacket and a scarf over skinny jeans and Converse sneakers. Big sunglasses shield her eyes.

I reach for her hand, and her head jerks around to look at me. “Something wrong?” I ask, tugging her closer. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

I stop walking, stepping to the side so people can go around us. “When a woman says she’s ‘fine,’ that means she’s not fine.”

Her lips twitch. “Oh, come on. Give us credit. We can say what we mean.”

I lift one eyebrow and wait.

“Gah. Okay, I’m a little freaked out about last night.”

“It was that good, huh.”

One corner of her mouth lifts. “Yes, it was good. Okay?”

“It was.” I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles, keeping my eyes on her face. “Now tell me why you’re really freaked out.”

She nibbles her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be a cliché.”

“Uh . . . how so?”

She hesitates again. “I don’t know what this is.” She waves a hand between us.

“Yeah. I get it. I don’t know either.” I reach with both hands and gently remove her sunglasses. It’s making me crazy not being able to see her eyes. Our gazes lock and hold in amused understanding. “But hey, why do we have to know? This is, like, our first date. Who knows what something is on the first date?”

She laughs. “You have a solid point there.”

“Right? Let’s just go with it. Let’s just have fun.”

She nods. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want. Let’s have fun.”

“Excellent.”

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