Page 28 of Shutout
“Sure.” The word drips with sarcasm and his smirk deepens. “But it’s okay, I’ll make it worth your while.” He winks before skating away.
Winks.
At. Me.
Pretty sure my friends know they could fry an egg on my face right now.
“I feel like I’m missing more details,” Mina says on the verge of laughter.
Sliding lower onto my seat, I launch on the epic tale of my old unrequited crush.
CHAPTER 11
BROOKLYN
I’m the busiest player on the ice. A lot of people think my job as a defenseman is to block the opposing players from executing their plays, and dassit. But that would be if I was a run of the mill defenseman.
On top of that, I’m in charge of protecting my forwards so they can carry the puck to the opposite net. And also of instigating key opposing players—especially the short fused ones—so they focus on me and not my forwards, which means drawing penalties.
And when we get them? I’m on the special team to kill them too. Not to mention, I’m the last line of defense before our goalie. Who by the way, I have to protect with my life if that’s what it takes, plus do whatever I can so he can keep a shutout for the team stats. And if there’s a slight chance? I’m going to slap the puck so hard that I blow a sixth hole through the opposing goalie and bag us a goal.
It’s why I average over thirty minutes of play every game, while some of the other guys hit half of that. It’s also why I have so many chances to show off.
The first one comes in the first period. A Brighton guybreaks away, salivating at the chance of a goal. But I’ve mastered the art of positioning myself, and even though I have a late start, I dive right when he swings hard and tap the puck with the tip of my stick. It veers off into the air and Schwarz, our goalie, makes an easy save.
“Show off,” he tells me while the play’s stopped.
We both know that play could’ve gone wildly different and end up in a Brighton goal anyway, but it didn’t. “You’re welcome.”
Chewing on my mouthguard, I slightly turn to the seats across center ice and spot Liv right away. She’s talking with her friends, more animated than I’ve ever seen her. Hand gestures, shifting from one side to the other.
And totally ignoring the game.
I narrow my eyes. Challenge accepted, Olivia Rodriguez. I’ll make you watch me.
By the second period, no one’s on the board yet. I figure I can instigate some shit and the chance couldn’t be more perfect. I spot Brighton’s top defender tailing one of my first line forwards as he carries the puck from the sides. I take off like a freight train and crash into the Brighton guy just like one, all legal like, but he still goes down like a boulder.
I lift my head up and make eye contact with Liv right through the glass. There’s a cringe on her face, like she knows just how much the other guy must be hurting. But the play’s still going. Fallen guy tries to hook me with his stick and gets a penalty.
He glares at me as he gets sent to the sin bin, and I stick my tongue out and wave my gloved hand like a damn brat. Gets them every time.
“Wow, I’m really glad you’re on our side.” Bloom chuckles as we skate off to the bench for the PP. “You are absolutely insufferable.”
“Talk dirty to me,” I say with a fake roar.
“Let’s order pizza from Romano’s for the after game party.”
We climb over the board and plop our asses on the bench. I say, “Are you asking me out, Bloom? I’m single right now and I may get ideas.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, Blondie. You’re not my type.”
“Well, neither are you. My type is…” I trail off, my eyes sliding across center ice again.
Liv’s watching me now.
I tilt my head.
She’s not my type. I gravitate to sporty girls. In fact, Liv knows my first ever crush was her sister—no doubt one of the items in the long list of embarrassing reasons why Liv thinks I’m the cringiest.
