Page 38 of Pucking the Grump

Even if it means breaking a few of my rules along the way.

Chapter 10

Stone

I’m good at a lot of things.

I can grow a patchy beard in under a week, arrange flowers like a boss, and make a mean omelet. I’m a gifted athlete, possessed of a solid sense of humor, and can win the heart of any dog with an ounce of common sense in sixty seconds or less.

But lying to Coach Lauder?

That’s not my forte.

Or my favorite way to start a week…

“I really am sorry about missing the meeting,” I say, holding his steely gaze across the desk in his office in the corner of the locker room. Our old head coach had an office upstairs in the admin area with tons of windows and a view of the river. But Lauder likes to be down here, in the thick of things, where he can keep an eye on us. “I know how much you value punctuality. When I realized we were locked in, I felt terrible.”

“That storage room door has been a pain in my ass for months.” Coach leans back, his chair creaking beneath his solid frame. His eyes narrow behind his wire-rimmed glasses, but his gruff tone isn’t as pissed sounding as I expected it to be. He almost sounds a little…amused. Or as amused as Coach ever gets, anyway. “Remy texted a minute ago. Mentioned you were helping her grab some boxes for that kids’ program?”

“Yes, sir. Then the door locked behind us, and neither of us had our phones. So, we were out of luck until someone came down that way to check on us.”

He nods for a long beat before sucking in a breath and offering a dismissive shrug. “All right. Maybe one of these days, management will finally take this issue seriously and address the problem. In the meantime, get your ass on the ice, Stone. And next time you see a box that needs moving, find maintenance.”

“Yes, sir.”

I head back into the locker room, thoughtful but grateful that the worst is over. Something felt off about that conversation, but Coach thankfully seems to have more important things to worry about right now than why his star forward was helping his daughter reach high shelves.

So, do I. Like our chances at the cup this year, my last year to get to the finals and bring that bad boy home to Portland.

When I walk in, the locker room is already buzzing with pre-practice energy. Tank’s in his usual spot, methodically taping his stick, not far from my locker.

“You survive the boss man?” he asks without looking up.

“Barely.” I drop onto the bench beside him. “Thanks for the save this morning.”

“That’s what friends are for.” He finishes with the tape, examining his handiwork with a critical eye. “Though I’d appreciate fewer ghost-themed rescue missions in the future.”

“You’re the one who had the ‘feeling’ someone was trapped down there.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shudders. “That place gives me the creeps.”

I grin, remembering how spooked he was the first time he got locked in the haunted wing. Not much ruffles this man, but he’s not a fan of enclosed places. “At least no one had to pee in a water bottle this time.”

“Small mercies.” He stands, and we head for the ice. “Now, I know you’ve had an exciting morning, but try to keep your head in the game.”

“Always do,” I say, earning myself a dubious grunt.

But then, as my closest friend on the team, Tank knows exactly what a big deal it is that he caught Remy and me sleeping in together. I’ve been pining for this woman for a long time. It’s probably getting pathological at this point, but I can’t bring myself to regret a second of it.

Especially not when Remy looked about ten seconds away from admitting she was catching feelings, too, right before Tank opened the door.

If he hadn’t interrupted when he did…

I mean, I’m obviously glad we aren’t still trapped in there, but I’d give a kidney to know what was on the tip of her tongue.

* * *

Out on the ice, Tank continues to keep me on my toes, our years of playing together here and in Seattle showing in the way he reads my every move, anticipating exactly how I’m going to try to score on him.

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