Page 3 of Pucking Sweet

I groan, tipping my head back as his strong fingers massage my left calf muscles. “God, you’re good at that.” I feel my body go slack. “What will it take to convince you to come to my house and do this every night?”

Teddy stills.

“Novy, stop propositioning my interns,” Doc Avery calls from the next table over. He’s busy working on Langley, one of the flashy young wingers. I don’t know why, but Avery always makes me grit my teeth. The guy is a fucking asshole.

“Don’t listen to him, Teddy Bear,” I tease. “You know I’m totally loaded, right? I’ll make it more than worth your while.” I flash him an obnoxious wink that Langley and Avery can both see.

Teddy laughs. “Sure, Nov. Why don’t I just move in for the season? I can kip on your couch and make you oatmeal in the morning too.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He grins. “Cool. My going rate is a thousand dollars a night.”

I huff a laugh that comes out part grunt as he digs his thumb into my soleus muscle.

“Hey, you just said you’re loaded, right?”

“Don’t even tempt me, bud. You’re that good. You’ve got way better technique than old Hotdogs-for-Hands Avery over there.”

Avery grumbles something under his breath while Teddy puffs out his chest a little, pleased with my compliment. “Okay, man. That’s about all I can do,” he says, lowering my leg. “Hit the bike for fifteen to twenty minutes when you get off the ice. Keep it loose and casual.”

“Loose and casual? Did you memorize my Tinder bio?”

“I can help you stretch after if you need me,” he offers.

“Hey, there are twenty-two other guys on this team,” Avery calls over to him. “Time to crawl out of Novy’s ass, kid.”

Sitting up, I swing my legs off the side of the table.

“Good luck out there today,” Teddy says, his voice lower now, his smile falling.

I hop off the table and flash him my most confident grin. “Like I need it.”

He’s right to wish me luck though. On a regular team, training camp is typically used to decide which farm team guys will fill out the twenty-three-man roster. But this is year one for the Jacksonville Rays. No player’s position is guaranteed, not even mine. All the rookies are hungry for a chance to shine, and the older guys are desperate to stay relevant. Hopefully, Coach Johnson is about to announce that I’ll be the starting left defenseman this season.

I think the only holdup at this point is deciding who will skate at my right. There are a few good prospects. Jean-Luc Gerard is a legend. Jake Compton is definitely solid. We’ve been chasing each other in the League rankings for years.

But I’ve got my hopes set on Cole Morrow. Methodical and confident, he’s like a cannonball on the ice. He’s knocked me on my ass more times than I can count over the years. And we already have a shorthand we can dust off from the time we played together back in the Western Hockey League. It was only for one season, but when we started together on the Seattle Thunderbirds, we were a well-oiled, two-man machine.

Langley hops off the other table. He’s only an inch or two shorter than my six-foot-two frame, but he’s a forward and I’m a defenseman. He’s lean and fast, while I’m built like a tree. “You ready for another exhibition game?”

“I was born ready.”

“You’re from Thunder Bay, right? And you played in the WHL?” I eye him carefully. “Did you google me, Langers?”

“Might have done.”

I press a hand to my chest. “Aww, I’m touched. You wanna know my star sign too there, bud? My favorite food?”

He laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t look up my stats just as soon as they announced the full trade list.”

“Of course I did. Gotta know your enemy, right? And my star sign is Scorpio by the way—not that you asked.”

“So, I’m your enemy now? You really want to start the season with an enemy on the team?”

“Hey, they traded you in from Montreal, Langers. I was a Bruin. You do the math. Besides, everyone loves a good enemies-to-lovers trope.”

“Spare me, tough guy. I know you’re a marshmallow under all that angry muscle. And it doesn’t matter where we came from. We’re both Rays now.”

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