Page 62 of Taking It To Overtime

Did I say Spags was growing on me? I was wrong. He’s still prattling away and I take my glove off to press my fingers to my temple, hoping to stave off the brewing headache.

“This isn’t an appropriate conversation,” I say, adding a frown for good measure. Spags’ smile just gets bigger.

“Au contraire mon Ami.Like that? I learned that phrase from a French Canadian kid at the world juniors.”

“Do you know what it means?” My lips twitch as I try not to smile.

“Something about no bullshit. So, in all seriousness, how was your date?”

I think about pressing my lips to Vera’s cheek; her turning to catch my mouth in a kiss goodbye this morning. We’d stayed in one bed, her tucked against my bare chest and our legs intertwined. How she rocked her hips back to mine and my cock had nestled into the cleft of her ass. How I’d fumbled fora condom as she lifted her thigh and positioned me right at her entrance.

If last night had been a fuck, this morning was something else. A slow rock and pulse toward the finish line, her dragging my hands up to cup her breasts in a possessive hold. How she sighed my name as her pussy clamped down on my cock, dragging us over the edge together.

“Aha!” There’s a hockey glove in my face, and a finger aimed at my nose. “That’s a smile. Spill.”

“No,” I say, but I feel myself smile again and Spags cackles. “Focus kid.”

We have one day left until scrimmage and the teams are evenly matched. No matter how much fun I’m having with Vera, I’m here first for these young athletes. I would have killed for extra coaching from any NHL player at their age. Something to let me know my dream was in reach, as opposed to people constantly trying to keep my feet planted on the ground just in case of disappointment.

“Hey Oakes,” it’s Brad waving me over to the away bench, a tablet clutched in his left hand. He’s not dressed to be on the ice and I want to roll my eyes. This is his first year with us and he only seems to focus on players from his district and ones with flashy skill. He’s not a bad skater. Maybe over time he’ll learn that the best way to get these kids amped about the game is to join them, giving them demos and examples instead of barked orders, or he’ll burn out and go to another team and rinse and repeat until he retires.

Spags wrinkles up his nose and rolls his eyes as I skate my way over.

“Think any of these boys have what it takes to go pro? Or are we wasting our time?” He uses his middle finger to scroll over the screen and I can just see the tiny headshots of each player, along with their stats.

“Wasting our time?”

I willnotbeat this man over the head with my shoulder pads. Probably.

“That’s why you’re here, right? Funneling them into juniors? Earmarking them for recruitment?” He laughs. “I know we say it’s just for skill-building, but come on, they don’t send the big guns for that.”

Black spots dance in the corners of my eyes and there’s a ringing in my ears.

MaybeI will not beat this man with my shoulder pads.

“No,” I frown.

Thisisa skill-building camp. No one sent me. I’m here for myself because I know I would have killed for this kind of opportunity as an inexperienced player. I’m here because I can. Because other than keeping up with my workouts and spending time on the ice, I have a large swath of time where I’m not contracted to be anywhere. And I have the funds to not worry about work during the offseason.

“Damn, that’s a real shame.” Brad shrugs. “I thought for sure you’d have your eye on Marlowe, especially after I gave him a talking to about his girl.”

I have to replay his words in my head to be sure I’m hearing him right. First, because yes, Idohave my eye on Marlowe, except I have nothing to do with the draft or the USHL, so it means very little. Second, he didn’t need a talking to. Nora was a non-issue.

“Excuse me?”

Brad chuckles. The sound scrapes down my nerve endings and I grind my teeth together. “Yeah, I pulled him aside and reminded him that his dream couldn’t afford any distractions. No matter how pretty. Reminded him that if he bagged that NHL contract, he’d have girls breaking down his door to do things for him.”

The rink swoops around me and for a moment everything goes mute, before sound rushes back in on a roar. Will Marlowe is a talented skater. He’s also a minor. As is the girlfriend that sits in the stands. This cockroach smirking in front of me is the one who told me she had a tough home life. To reduce her to nothing more than the sexual things she can do for him… to imply that a kid who could be recruited—still as a kid—should look forward to sexual perks? That is not acceptable in my rink or in my program.

“Brad,” his name tastes rancid in my mouth. “I want you out of my rink. Now.”

This time his laugh wavers. “Come on, man, I did you a favor. I know he’s dragging today, but someone had to do it. At least I know the kid. Have a relationship with him.”

I see red, my hands cramping from how tightly I have them fisted. I haven’t been paying enough attention, I’ve been too distracted by my woman, and now I’ve let this absolute shit stain spend unsupervised time with our players. And no, I do not count his little toady as adequate supervision.

“I want… you out… Of. My. Rink.” Watching his face turn ice pale with each of my words is almost better than joint orgasms. “Not only is your attitude toward all these players completely unacceptable, but your words and actions are abhorrent and inexcusable.” My voice drops lower and lower. “I want you out of my rink and out of my sport. I will be filing a complaint with your school district and league.”

“You can’t be serious,” he says, spittle dripping from his lips as he splutters.

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