Page 1 of Overtime
CHAPTER 1
ARAN
If only I could get to the ice ASAP, it would transform this crappy day into a halfway decent one.
I run my badge by the scanner at the front doors of St. Cloud’s training facility, home to the Thunder Bolts and the Thunder Strikes. The sign above the entrance saying all that jazz still looks brand spanking new, courtesy of boosters who have really been enjoying the hockey program since my older sister’s generation put it on the map. I couldn’t give two flying turds about the prestige of the program or the school, though.
All I want to do is play hockey. And maybe have a few casual dates.
A-freaking-las, I have to go to school, where I get a failing grade on my essay for the useless business class I never wanted to take in the first place, if not thanks to my sisters.
When they said that I’m such an unfeeling robot that I couldn’t pass a Captcha to save my life—even though I showed them on my phone that I damn well could—they challenged me to take a class that had more words than numbers. Apparently, the fact that I can stand still while disks made of vulcanized rubber are being shot at me makes me less human. And so is thefact that I’m studying Accounting. Also, that I can’t commit to a single relationship.
Now here I am, with my first big F. Coach Green will no doubt have words about it.
On top of that, my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing all day, and unfortunately, the messages aren’t offers from the pros. Because guess what? The casual date is now upset she’s still casual. Even though I told her from the beginning that I don’t do serious.
“Watch out, you guys,” a familiar voice says as I walk into the locker room. “Our captain looks like a solid five on his bad mood scale.”
I throw my duffel bag on the bench by my locker. I set my stick down with more care. It’s my favorite.
“When is he not in a bad mood?” asks another clown.
“Hence the scale.” The original jokester chuckles. Unfortunately, his locker is next to mine. And he’s my assistant captain. And also my roommate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time, Rodriguez?”
I unzip my coat with a grunt. That’s all he’s getting from me. I’m minutes away from the ice rink, and until then, my mood could easily tip closer to a ten on my bad mood scale. Especially if they catch wind of why I’m so annoyed.
But Archie Bracken doesn’t give up. It’s why he makes a stellar left winger and assistant captain, and why he tolerates me off the rink. He and Ryan are the only ones.
“Let me guess,” he says with a hum. “Did someone corner you in the bathroom and ask for your autograph again?”
I hang my coat and unwind my scarf from around my neck, balling it up and stuffing it in the pocket of my coat. As I peel off my hoodie, some of the other guys join in on the ribbing.
“My turn,” Jamal Amadi, my other assistant captain, chimes in with laughter in his voice. “A pretentious professor impliedyou’re yet another stereotypical jock? Because that literally happened to me this morning.”
Several murmurs of “me too” erupt. Half of the student body, most of them female, may have become big fans of the team over the years. But the majority of the school staff still think we’re a waste of space. And I may have just helped their case with my flunked paper.
“No, no,” says the drawling voice of Harrison Edwards, the backup goalie. “This has something to do with a girl. What are you at, girl number fifteen this year alone?”
“Why are you keeping track?” I ask while taking off my jeans and socks. “Waiting for your turn in line or something?”
“Oh, burn!” Archie hollers.
“You wish.” Edwards scoffs and turns his back again. He’s a classic can-dish-it-but-can’t-take-it kind of guy.
I toss my street clothes into the bottom of my locker and kick my boots under the bench. I manage to change into my compression underwear and hockey shorts just as a commotion starts. A yelp from a manly voice is weird enough that I glance over my shoulder and… promptly wish I hadn’t.
Because in the middle of the men’s locker room is none other than my casual date.
Kelsey, in her pink coat and high-heeled boots, stands out in the locker room decorated in St. Cloud’s blues and grays. More pairs of eyes than I need for whatever this is are trained on her. And she doesn’t care about the various stages of undress all around her, or my own.
I draw in a deep breath and turn to face her. “What are you doing here?”
Kelsey’s eyes get their fill of my bare torso, and the guys start whistling. I’m not sure if it’s at her or at me. With these stooges, you never know.
“I had to make all this effort since you’re not picking up your phone.”
“See? It was a girl all along. Pay up.” Edwards offers his upraised palm to Archie.
