Page 17 of Collide
Reluctantly, I take it from him and pause before allowing it to touch my hair. “Just so you know, you’re ruining my hair-wash schedule.” He gives me a blank look as if my hair health is of the least importance to him. On my head, the helmet hangs loosely providing very little protection. It’s on the verge of tipping off.
“Tighten it,” he says pointing to the buckle.
“I did.” I forcefully tug on the strap.
He lets out a breath and skates to stand just a few inches from me. He’s so close that I can smell his clean scent as he towers over me. How he manages not to smell disgusting is beyond me. If the locker room is any indication of how bad hockey players can stink, he’s an anomaly.
I’m staring right at him when he straightens the helmet. His eyes are almost hypnotizing and I can hear the chant in my head to look away. The green looks hazel around the edges, with specks of gold scattered throughout. When he brushes my hair out of my face, I snap out of it.
“If you pull on the left strap, it gets tighter,” he explains, tugging on it. “Should fit right under your chin.” He secures it as much as he can. “Good?”
I nod.
He skates backwards. “On three.”
We push off the board after the countdown and shoot across the ice. He’s fast. Insanely fast. I start to wonder why I thought I could win against a D1 athlete. Especially since the last time I skated was years ago. My legs burn from only a few strides. My eyes aren’t doing a great job of focusing on the finish line. Instead I watch him move like lightning, and that’s when I trip on a divot in the ice.
The squeak that leaves me must reach his ears because I hear the scraping blades before I hit the ground. Again.
I’m reminded that head protection is very necessary, especially when my helmet cushions the blow when I fall. Other than my very fragile pride, I think I’m fine when Aiden kneels beside me.
“Fuck, that seemed bad. Are you hurt?” His cold hand slides to the back of my neck to lift me up. “What day is it?” he suddenly asks.
There’s no way I hit my head hard enough to need a concussion check. I’m mostly worried about how soaked my new leggings are. “I don’t have a concussion.”
“Humor me.” Traces of concern bleed through his calm voice.
“Thursday.”
As he’s asking the questions, I realize that he technically hasn’t won yet. And neither have I lost. Biting down the smile that begins to bloom at the thought, I let him lift me off the ground.
“Where are you right now?” He continues when I stand.
“Staring at your big ass head,” I say before I turn and bolt, using every muscle in my body to my advantage.
Aiden calls after me before his skates scrape the ice. Fast. My body burns, but I’m so close I can taste the damn boards. I don’t look back, afraid that even one look will cost me.
6 | AIDEN
ILOST.
I’m the fastest hockey player in the NCAA and I lost to a five-foot-six sports psychology student who hates hockey.
“Holy shit! I won!” Summer skates circles around me.
“You seem surprised for someone who was so confident,” I grumble.
“Cause you’re a college athlete. You literally do this every day and I beat you!” She does a wobbly twirl, beaming brightly. Her wet leggings snatch my attention, the discolored area highlighting her ass. I pry my gaze away before she notices me staring. “Please tell me they have cameras here. I need the footage.”
“For what?”
“Future purposes.”
Blackmail. “That would also mean it recorded you cheating,” I say.
She lets out an animated gasp. “Cheating? I’ve never cheated in my life.” She stops in front of me and a sudden waft of something sweet hits me. “You decided to stop, and you were one second behind me. It was a fair race.”
“Depends. If you define fair as heavily skewed in one’s favor,” I say, and she stares back unamused. “Fine. You win. I’ll do your sessions without complaint.” Honestly, even if I won I would have done anything she wanted. It was a miracle she let me on the project to begin with.
