Page 67 of Bad Teammate
As disappointing as the game was, it was still early—and I was just happy to be hanging out with the girls again. Their game day outfits were so cute—to each and every game, the whole group wore denim jackets with nameplates and numbers sewn onto the back, just like the official jerseys, to tell the whole world who their man was.
“I love that you wore a denim jacket, too, Katerina,” Emma said, sitting at my left. The back of her jacket read HATHAWAY 19.
Mackenzie, sitting on Emma’s other side, wore the tiniest, cutest denim jacket I’d ever seen with DADDY 19 stitched on the back.
“Total coincidence, I swear,” I said. “I don’t want to look like some psycho.”
The three of us laughed.
“You don’t look like a psycho! You fit right in,” Austen said. The back of her jacket read DeHARDT 22. “Almost like it was meant to be! Heck, maybe you should ask Eva to sew some numbers onto your jacket?”
Eva, who wore PARISI 16, leaned over Austen to talk to me. “Yeah, Katerina! I’d totally whip you up a jacket with your brother’s name and number, if you want!”
I chuckled. “No, thank you. People might think I’m dating him. That’d be weird.”
Austen whispered in my ear. “Maybe you could ask Eva if she’d sew adifferentname and number on there?”
“Oh my God!” I whispered back. “Don’t even!”
We laughed up a storm.
But what was happening out on the ice was anything but funny.
The crowd groaned as the Blizzard celebrated yet another goal to make the score 5–0. This goal felt exponentially more massive and insurmountable than the previous goal, like it was the last shovelful of dirt to be thrown on our grave.
A trickle of fans gave up and headed for the exit.
“How did the rest of the party go last night, anyway?” Emma asked me slyly.
As much as I wanted to tell them everything about last night, this certainly wasn’t the place to do it. I could trust Emma and Austen to keep my secret, but I didn’t want the rest of the ladies—or anyone else—finding out just yet.
“Things went well,” I said.
With the tip of my tongue, I probed my inner cheeks, searching for a hint of Derek’s taste. It’d beenhourssince I’d swallowed his load, but I still found myself trying to find it—and sometimes, I could almost swear I found a trace of his salty goodness.
I couldn’t wait to have him forrealtonight …
Emma elbowed me to get my attention. “There they are! Jack, Niko and Reavo!”
I sat up straight and watched as the three men hopped over the boards. Derek raced into the play and threw his weight into the opponent, knocking him off his skates and stealing the puck in the process. He passed the puck off to Sasha and their line galloped up the ice.
A ripple of excitement finally gripped the crowd as Sasha carried the puck into the offensive zone. Derek was wide open, and I was sure Sasha was going to pass it to him for an easy goal …
Does he not see him?
Why isn’t he passing?
I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled in Russian. “Pass the puck, Sasha! Derek is wide open!”
But he didn’t pass. He hoarded the puck instead, trying to dance through every opponent as if he was a one-man hockey team. Trapped, Sasha boxed himself into a corner, and the defenders rubbed him into the boards and finally stole the puck away.
Was this the player he’d become? Did he really believe he could do everything all on his own? He looked nothing like the dazzling player I remembered him to be.
“What wasthat?” I grumbled to Emma and Austen. “He’s playing like a selfish clown.”
“He doesn’t look like himself tonight,” Emma said.
“No, he doesn’t,” Austen said.
