Page 97 of Thoroughly Pucked

This is the good stuff, the here and now, when yourfriends—and that’s what Ledger and Aubrey both are—know you so well, they surprise you with an impromptu chance to play the game you love.

“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” I say, full of the bravado I bring to the ice.

There’s one little problem. No gear. But Sanchezisrunning a camp. “You got pads and shit for me?” I ask him.

Sanchez scoffs. “What do you take me for? A newbie?”

“Cool. I can borrow your stuff.”

Another scoff. “We’ve got yours.”

Wait. What? “H-how?”

A wicked grin comes from the man running the camp. “Your teammates are here too.”

Not that I keep tabs on everyone, but I don’t remember any of the Golden State Foxes mentioning they’d be in Vancouver when I saw them a week ago at the gym. “Yeah? Which ones? Did you know about this?” I ask Ledger.

He shrugs, but he’s trying to fight off a smile. Aubrey has the straightest of straight faces as well.

“Some of his too,” Sanchez adds, pointing to Ledger.

“Sea Dogs?” I feel like I’m missing the punchline.

Ledger sheds his stoicism. “Stefan, Hayes, Chase, and Ryker flew up this morning for the concert. We called them last night and asked them to bring our gear. We’ll play with the kids. But first, get ready. We’re going to practice shooting.On you. You better hope your summer ass is in shape.”

“It. Is. On.”

I step inside the arena right foot first. Like I’ve always done.

The ice is smooth as glass, and the sound of blades cutting through the rink is my favorite song on the best playlist ever.

My pads are tight, and my helmet is snug. Gloves on, skates laced, stick in hand. Everything fits perfectly. Just the way I like it. I’m standing between the pipes, ready to face the barrage of shots from my friends, some of the best players in the league.

Now they’re my enemies, trying to score on me.

They’re circling the ice, weaving around each other, laughing, casually passing the puck before we start.

The crowd is loud. As in Aubrey, Trina, and Ivy. They’re standing by the boards, shouting, hooting, hollering.

And singing too? Is that “Livin’ on a Prayer?”

Yes, the ladies are belting out Bon Jovi. It’s adorable but I’d better tune it out.

Doesn’t matter that this pre-game warm-up is for kicks. I’m here to play hard. Sanchez watches from the stands as Ledger flies down the ice, passing deftly to Chase. They’re aiming for me, but that’s not gonna happen today.

Nope. Aubrey is here, and I want to show her what I can do.

Chase takes aim, lifting the stick high and sending it flying. But there’s nothing quite as satisfying as stopping shot after shot, including this one that’s hurtling toward me at Mach speed. I stretch out my glove, slapping that rocketing disc down.

Take that, puck.

Stefan comes at me next, racing with Hayes, passing that bad boy back and forth. I’m at the ready, crouching in the crease as Hayes tries to fool me with a backhand shot.

I catch it with my blocker.

From the side of the rink, Aubrey catcalls, “Ha! You can’t score on him. Go back to LA.”

Damn, she is a heckler, and hell, if that doesn’t fire me up some more.

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