Page 112 of Breaking the Ice
“The top line in theconference,” Elliott reminded him.
Zach sighed. “And sometimes that means jack shit.”
“We’re gonna get it together,” Mal promised Zach. “More drills. More practice.”
This was not what he’d come over here for. “It’s fine,” Zach said, but he had a feeling nothing he said was going to stick. Maybe if they went and fucked out their frustration after this, they’d see what had happened more clearly.
Zach could only hope.
“I’m gonna practice that shot a million goddamn times,” Elliott said under his breath.
“And you’d make it ninety-nine percent of the time,” Zach said.
But Elliott was already turning away.
When Zach finished making his rounds—high-fiving Ramsey and Brody, thanking them for the goal and the extraordinary defensive effort, and congratulating Finn on another killer shutout—he headed to Gavin’s office.
Sure enough, there he was, slumped on the couch, in the dark.
Not a great sign.
“Finished with the media?” he asked.
Gavin shrugged.
Zach perched his ass on the side of the couch. Nudged his hand right up next to Gavin’s thigh, as close as he dared, when they were here, at the rink. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to giveyoua pep talk, too,” he teased.
Gavin rolled his eyes, but then he asked, “What kind of pep talk?”
“The one where I tell you that we take the win. That Ivan’s line will sort itself out. That Finn was so fucking solid out there.”
“Yeah,” Gavin agreed, but the confidence that was always in his voice was not quite there.
“We’ll have to keep them from over-practicing this week,” Zach said. “Ell in particular.”
“He should’ve made that shot,” Gavin said. Zach smacked him on the thigh.
“Not you too.”
Gavin shot him a helpless look. “He wants to make it, he needs that shot.”
“Hehasit,” Zach reminded him.
But Gavin didn’t say anything.
“Hey, let’s go grab a late dinner,” Zach said.
Gavin’s forehead creased. “You want to go have dinner?”
“I don’t want to go over the tape. Not tonight. Dinner,” Zach said and shot Gavin the most predatory smile he could muster, “and then dessert after. No thinking about hockey.”
“Like a . . .like a date?” Gavin looked uncertain.
Zach’s heartbeat didn’t flutter with concern. It definitely did not. They hadn’t used the dword. They’d used theotherd word frequently enough in the last few days, butdatingwas notdick.
He remembered, a little too well, how adamantly Gavin had been against dating. He didn’t seem adamantly against dick, enthusiastic in a way that had practically short-circuited Zach’s brain.
“Yeah,” Zach said hesitantly.
