Page 39 of Pucking the Grump

It makes practice a delicious challenge.

When I fake left but shoot right, he’s already there, deflecting my shot with a satisfied smirk.

“Getting predictable in your old age, pretty boy,” he taunts as I circle back for another attempt.

“Just warming up, big guy.” I gather speed for my next attack. Tank’s the best goalie I’ve ever played with or against, the kind of netminder who makes you work for every goal, who pushes you to be better just by virtue of his own excellence. “Let’s see if you can stop this one.”

He does stop it, but just barely, and the way his eyes narrow tells me I’ve got his full attention now.

There’s nothing quite like the chess match of forward versus goalie when two players know each other this well. It’s made us both better over the years, this ongoing dance of challenge and counter-challenge, support and competition.

We’re still chirping away at each other when Grammercy joins us. The guy might believe in ghosts, but his instincts on the ice are supernatural in the best way, a fact he proves as we move into the next drill.

Coach puts us through our paces for another hour, but there’s an energy in the arena today, a sense of possibility that has nothing to do with haunted storage rooms.

This team is special. We all feel it.

The new guys like Grammercy are slotting right in, the veterans are playing some of their best hockey, and even Coach seems lighter these days. Well, as light as Lauder ever gets.

But still. Something’s different. Better.

Maybe it’s because this is my last season, and I’m determined to go out with a bang. Maybe it’s because Tank’s impending fatherhood has him playing like a man possessed to secure his family’s future. Or maybe it’s just that rare magic that happens sometimes in sports, when all the pieces come together at exactly the right moment.

Whatever it is, I can’t help feeling like this could be our year. The year we finally bring the cup home to Portland.

* * *

By the time we break for lunch, I’m riding high on endorphins and optimism, which always makes me hungry. I’m shoveling it in, already halfway through my chicken and rice, when Remy walks into the cafeteria.

My fork freezes inches from my mouth.

She never eats here. The admin staff has their own break room upstairs, and she usually works through lunch anyway.

But there she is, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had about sexy office managers come to life.

She must have hit the clothes stash in her office. Gone is this morning’s casual wear. In its place is a pencil skirt and my favorite green silk blouse, the one that makes her eyes pop like nobody’s business. Her hair is swept up in one of those twisty things that make me want to pull out all the pins and watch it tumble down.

While I fuck her.

Hard.

“Damn,” Bellamy mutters beside me, his voice thick with the kind of appreciation that makes my jaw clench. “Those long legs go all the way to heaven? Because I’d love to?—”

“Choose your next words carefully.” My voice is quiet but sharp enough to make him flinch. “That’s Coach’s daughter you’re talking about. Show some respect.”

Tank kicks me under the table, a warning to dial it back, but I can’t help it. Other men talking about Remy like she’s a piece of ass makes my blood boil.

“Sorry, man.” Bellamy holds up his hands in surrender, his brown eyes wide. “Didn’t mean anything by it. I swear.”

“We’re cool.” I will myself to relax, to remember that I have no right to get territorial. Remy and I aren’t public. Hell, we aren’t even technically together. And getting into it with Bellamy would only draw attention we don’t need.

As she approaches our table, I concentrate very hard on looking casual. Like I wasn’t just thinking about fucking her. Like I haven’t memorized exactly how that silk blouse feels beneath my fingertips as I slide it off her shoulders.

“There you are, Stone.” Her voice is pure professionalism, but there’s a hint of warmth in her gaze that only I would notice. “Could you stop by my office after practice today? I have some paperwork for a potential endorsement deal I need to go over with you. And some paperwork for you to sign if you’re interested.”

“Sure thing,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “What time?”

“Just a few minutes before five? If you can hang around a while?” She glances at her watch. “I know camp dismisses at four, but I have a call until then.”

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