Page 81 of Slap Shot Scandal
Now or never.
“Last round. Line One—” Keller hits the stopwatch, and I shove off the line a split second behind Bennett.
Not ideal.
I push as hard as I can, quads burning as I make the turn.
“Weston, 3 flat, Bennett 3.02, Morrison, 3.1. Good job, boys.” Keller nods his approval as I suck in oxygen like it’s my motherfucking job.
“Weston.” Coach’s voice stops me as I start to skateaway. “Nice finish. But you were sloppy on the first four. Whatever’s going on in your head, get it sorted by tomorrow.”
My heart thuds harder and ice runs through my veins.
Shit. I’m that fucking obvious.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because I need my captain locked in, not scattered.” He moves away, leaving me with the clear message that I’m on thin ice.
Harbor’s not just threatening my job. Now she’s threatening my captaincy.
Bennett circles around me. “About fucking time, Cap. I was beginning to think you needed performance coaching off the ice too.” Bennett slaps me on the back as I spin, arms resting on my head.
“Saved the best for last, Benny.” I huff out the words, but Bennett’s not buying it.
“Bullshit. You’ve been off for three days straight. Callum noticed too.” He glances around, making sure Coach isn’t listening. “Whatever’s happening with PR Barbie’s fucking with your game.”
My jaw clenches. “Stop with that nickname, Bennett. It’s derogatory and you know it. She deserves respect, like every other member of the team. Also, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. When’s the last time I beat you in four straight sprints? Never, that’s when.” He leans closer, voice dropping. “Look, I don’t care who you’re banging. But if it’s affecting your leadership, the team’s gonna notice.”
Fuck.
Because he’s right. If Bennett can see it, everyone can.
“It’s handled,” I mutter.
“Is it? Because you just lost to me four times, bro. Andnow you’re eye-fucking the PR consultant during practice.”
“Harbor?” Callum glides up next to us, water bottle in hand. He looks from me to Bennett, then back to me again. “That explains the shitty skating.”
“Not you too,” I growl.
“You know I don’t get involved in your business, Wes. But when the distraction affects practice…” Callum shrugs. “Maybe talk to her instead of pretending she doesn’t exist.”
“She’s the one avoiding me.”
“Then stop letting her,” Bennett says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re the captain of a professional hockey team. Act like it.”
With that advice drop, my brothers skate away, leaving me alone. Hands on my knees, I take in a deep breath and try to shake off my uneasiness. I glance around the rink, checking on the team. My gaze sweeps past the boards toward the sponsor area.
And there she is.
We lock eyes for a split second, her cheeks turning the same pink as when she was riding my cock. She tucks her hair behind her ear—her nervous tell—and for a quick moment, the rink disappears. Our connection’s like a low magnetic hum across the ice, something only the two of us can sense.
Her lips part slightly, and I remember exactly how they felt on mine. Soft, warm. Perfect. How she tasted. How she whispered my name when she came.
For a heartbeat, the mask slips and I see her—therealher. Beautiful, vulnerable.
