Page 7 of Puck Struck
“Glad you could make time in your schedule for us,” I say, anger bubbling in my gut.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Cam chirps, flashing that toothy grin that makes me want to punch a wall...or better yet, his too-pretty face. Goddamn him for having shit come so easy.
Coach Enver doesn't waste time. “Okay, guys. Thanks for coming in this morning. I’ve been speaking to Carter and I think it’d be best for the team if we focus on a little bit of camaraderie building. Cam is still in his first season here, as are the two other rookies. It’s important that they fit in with our more seasoned players. It will make the team stronger and build morale. That said, I’m pairing the rookies up with older players. Logan, you’ll mentor Cam. One-on-one drills. Joint interviews. Press events. Rooming on the next away series, which starts with a four-night stint coming up on Friday. You’ll make this work…together. We have big aspirations this season and we need full cooperation if we’re going to be successful.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Carter’s sharp look shuts me up. It's clear as day whose side he's on. My blood pressure spikes another notch.
A fucking mentor? Really?
“Coach, come on,” I start, but Coach levels me with a stare that could melt ice.
“You’ll make this work,” he repeats. “I’m counting on you.”
Coach talks about some of the team outings that are coming up but I tune him out. Every second of this meeting feels like a junk punch. I’ve given the Raptors everything. Ten solid seasons. And they think I need to babysit the league's most arrogant rookie to advance our playoff goals?
Fuck that. What we really need is for Cam to play like he’s actually on a team and isn’t a one-man show.
By the time Cam and I leave the room, my patience is frayed like the edges of a cheap rug. The hallway is dim compared to his blinding confidence. I can practicallyfeel the smugness radiating off of him, and it makes my skin prickle with rage.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Cam singsongs, his words trailing behind him like they’ve got sparkles on them. And why shouldn’t they? He’s untouchable, an ice fucking god. He’s got everything, his future bright and shiny, just like his ego.
He’s…
He’s everything I used to be. And that’s the hardest pill to swallow. It’s like reliving my glory days but watching someone else reap the rewards. Someone who is a complete fucktard without one sliver of humility.
“Looks like,” I grunt, shoving my hands into my pockets and ignoring the fire creeping up my neck.
“I’ve seen more excited faces on people getting their wisdom teeth pulled,” he teases, unaffected by my barely veiled ire.
“I’m thrilled. Believe me,” I shoot back, voice as dry as a camel’s ass.
“I know you’re pissed about last night.” He salutes me. “But don’t worry, Shaw. I won’t hog all the goals next time.”
I stop short, fury exploding in my chest. “You think this is a game, Foster?”
Cam raises both brows, unfazed. “Isn’t it?”
“You got lucky last night,” I growl. “Don’t start thinking that means something.”
Cam smirks. “I’m not thinking. I’m scoring.”
“Maybe you should start thinking about how to play on a team since that’s what this sport is all about. Team fucking work.”
“Ouch,” Cam says, recoiling. “Did someone put rusty nails in your Cheerios this morning? You always this grumpy?”
“You always this obnoxious?”
He laughs, the sound so carefree it’s like he’s never had a rough day in his life. “Nope, I’ve been saving it all for you.”
I glare at him. Is he really that clueless or is he just playing me like a fucking violin right now? Because truthfully, I can’t imagine anyone with half a brain being so obtuse.
He saunters ahead of me, humming some shitty pop song, then turns back with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Anything else I should know, Captain Crunch? Ya know, before we move in together for our first road trip?”
The nickname makes me stumble more than the fact that I’ll be cohabitating with him while we’re on the road. I clench my teeth so hard my jaw could possibly crack from the pressure.
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
“Ooh,” he says, clutching his hand over his heart. “So sensitive. You can’t take a joke?” He winks. “Noted. See, this is the kind of stuff I need to know.”
