Page 92 of Overtime
Wait a damn moment
Were you texting me in the nude
Strawberry
Obviously NOT
I have underwear on
Me
Did I mention I also need to know the exact shade of that
To coordinate ofc
Strawberry
Aran Rodriguez
Are you sexting me?
Me
Technically no. Apparently I’m the only one fully clothed
“Are you focused tonight, son?”
Slowly, as if I haven’t been heavily flirting with my tutor, I slide my phone away from sight and look up at Coach Green. Hestands in the aisle before me, grabbing the backrests of the seats in front of me. I know my face is impassive, but my heart races at full speed, and it’s not because he showed up silent as a ghost.
“Yes, sir.”
Ish. Once I suit up, I’ll be Aran “the Iceberg” Rodriguez, the ice wall before the net.
“Good. Our opponent should be easy, but don’t underestimate it.”
“No, sir.”
He chews his gum for a moment, watching me as if he can read my mind. “I made some calls, and there will be a lot of eyes on you tonight.”
I nod. “I won’t disappoint, sir.”
“I know you won’t. You’ve been sticking to our terms, and I plan to start you for every game as long as you don’t lose your cool. This is your last chance to impress, Rodriguez.”
What terms is he talking about?
And then it slams into me like a slapshot to the teeth. He’s talking about the no dating, focusing only on the game little deal he coerced me into.
“Right,” I say curtly.
Coach reaches down and pats my shoulder twice before heading back out to the middle of the bus to give essentially the same speech to everyone else. I’m not the only guy on this team eager to be recruited, whether as a free agent or in the draft, in the case of the younger guys. But it’s a bit different for me. Goalies aren’t typically the flashiest players. We’re also not the bulk of a hockey team’s roster, so recruiters tend to pay less attention to us.
And this is my last chance.
My phone pings with a message from Strawberry. I unlock the screen and nearly die of a heart attack right in my seat.
She took the picture without capturing her face, but there’s a marked flush down her neck and across the expanse of her chest. And there’s a lot of chest. The fabric puts it on glorious display without being obscene. Although maybe it is, considering what it’s doing to me. I barely register anything else about the dress, other than it’s the exact hue of her flushed skin and that it hugs her hips perfectly.
I rub my chest hard. What am I going to do with her?
