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Chapter 2

Two

EMORY

The rink is home to me, even if I'm practically surrounded by strangers.

The team has welcomed me with open arms—if you consider wary looks and multiple jokes regarding my arrest.

It's the start of the third period, and we're up 2-0. I haven't let a single puck through, and pride swells. I may have disappointed my previous coach and team, probably even my parents too, but right now, I'm proving myself.

That's what this season is about.

I'm here to clean up my destroyed image. I have to keep my head down, perfect my game, build this team up, and hopefully get offered an even better deal down the road.

Though, after practicing with these guys for the summer, I've realized that they're pretty fucking good. Their—our—only problem is we're not working together as a team yet.

You've got Malaki, who is one of the fastest skaters in the central division. He's mouthy and jokes too much, but he has skills. Then there's Rhodes, who is more like me than anyone else on the team. We speak the same language, which has been described as ‘caveman' by most of the team. Few words are shared between us, but he's the one teammate that I'm the closest with. He's a phenomenal left winger, and his mindset reminds me a lot of Theo Brooks—who is absolutely killing the Eastern Conference, just like he did when we were in college. Rhodes is the captain, and though I've only been a part of the Devils for a short time, I know it's well-deserved. He gets shit done, knowing when to spark anger and when to simmer.

Then there's the devil himself: Kane.

He's a rookie, but his knowledge of the game may give my best friend, Ford, a run for his money. I grew up alongside Ford and didn't think I'd ever meet someone who knew hockey like he did, but Kane is quick-witted and can predict where the puck is going well before the shot is even made.

He's young, though, and testy.

The refs have already had to break up four fights, and he's been in the middle of each of them.

My sights are lasered onto center ice, and I flex my jaw as I wait for the face-off.

Malaki skates over to me, and I can already tell he's got some jab up his sleeve. "Now listen…if someone is manhandling me out there, I expect you to pull an ‘Olson.'"

I act unperturbed. "And that is...?"

Malaki chews on the end of his blue mouthguard and can hardly get the words out without smirking. "When you pick someone up and throw them…just like you did at that bar last spring."

My features are unwavering behind my mask, but I want to pick Malaki up and throw him. If I were in practice, I'd do just that.

"Get away from me before I throw you ."

Malaki starts to skate off with his laughter following him. Before he gets too far, I tell him he better win the face-off, or I really will throw him.

It isn't surprising when he wins it. The puck squeezes out to the left, and a rush of adrenaline pulls my focus. I feel lethal. My mask is positioned correctly, my stick feels light in my grip, and my eyes follow the game. I mentally can't pull away, even if I tried.

Energy flows to my fingertips when the Florida Fins swipe the puck from us and head toward their zone. My heart skips, and an amusing growl leaves my chest when they advance me.

I fucking dare you.

My right hand flies upward, and the crowd roars.

Block.

"Try again," I mutter.

Rhodes sends me a tight nod, and it's as much of a compliment as I'm going to get from him, so I put it away in my pocket for later.

The rest of the game is the same as the beginning. Our defense needs some serious tweaking because by the end of the game, I'm spent. My shoulders ache with tension, and my thighs are shaking from the quick maneuvers I had to use to block the pucks. One out of forty-one shots got through, and I should be elated that we won, but I'm pissy about the one I let slide past.

My team comes over and pats me on the helmet as a way of saying good game, and I nod at each and every one of them. Florida has already gone into the locker room with their tails tucked in between their legs. The fans are rowdy and banging on the glass as we head toward the locker room.

"Bro," Kane snickers under his breath when I pop my helmet off and meet his face. "They have handcuffs."

"What?" The word is clipped coming from my mouth.

I scan the crowd and purposefully lock my jaw so it won't hang open at the audacity.

Fans are on their feet with their eyes set on the team, and though some of them are waving blue and white pom-poms and annoying-as-fuck noisemakers, there is a hefty number of them waving handcuffs while shouting, "Olson! Olson! Olson!"

Rhodes skates past. "Take it as a compliment," he gruffs before continuing on.

Malaki can hardly keep it together. "Some of the women are wearing fuzzy ones, just for you, man." He joins the crowd with his stick held up high above his head. "Olson, Olson, Olson!"

Jesus fucking Christ. He's egging them on.

"Do you want me fucking to throw you?" I snap. "Because I swear to god I will."

Malaki stops skating right before we enter the opening to the ice. "Why does that girl look so familiar?"

Someone laughs from behind. "You've probably seen her in your dreams."

"Wait, isn't that the stripper? The one who knew all about hockey? We quizzed her the other night."

I can't help but look at Malaki like he's an idiot. "While she was stripping, you quizzed her?"

He nods vigorously. "Yeah, why? Is that weird?"

"Not at all," I answer.

"That's not her. She had red hair." Kane goes through the opening next.

I follow their line of sight, and while I know that only a few seconds have come and gone, it feels like a lifetime.

She is the complete opposite of what I had prepared myself for. All those pornos that Ford and I snuck as teenagers created a very detailed image of what a stripper should look like, and it is nothing like the woman in the stands with her glossy lip trapped between her white teeth.

She's soft in all the right places with subtle curves. Her blonde hair lies behind her shoulders, giving way to her medium-sized chest that's mostly covered up by a Blue Devils shirt that has seen better days, and her heart-shaped face is free of heavy makeup like a lot of the women I see.

She's pretty .

Actually, no. She's fucking beautiful .

But she's a woman, and as of late, there's barely even a handful of them that I trust, so I keep skating until I make it to the opening. I slide right past Malaki as he attempts to win over her attention, and I purposefully keep my eyes to myself.

"I have something for you," Malaki says.

I slam my locker door. "Whatever it is, I don't want it."

A few of my teammates laugh under their breath as they pile out of the locker room with flushed faces and chips on their shoulders.

We've won one game, and they're already acting like kings.

They're getting ahead of themselves.

Before Rhodes skipped out to get his daughter, he caught my attention and shook his head. He read my mind, and it's clear he agrees with me. I'm sure practice will be loads of fun this week while he and Coach bring the young guys down a level to humble them.

Malaki slaps a small piece of paper onto my chest. I slowly drop my head and stare at his hand pressing against my beating heart.

"Dude, take it. Trust me."

I snatch the paper from his grip, and his smile is downright creepy.

"If this is some stupid fucking pretend arrest warrant, I'm shoving you in a locker."

He sobers. "Damn. I wish I would have thought of that. That's a missed opportunity for sure."

I slowly open up the paper with an audience. Most of the veteran players have left the locker room because they don't give a shit. It's the younger ones that are fully engaged.

When I finally register what's in my hand, a cold sweat breaks out along my neck.

My fingers curl against the gum wrapper, and I growl under my breath.

Absolutely not.

"You gonna go?" Malaki lowers his voice. "It's from that brainy stripper. However, she did say , ‘It isn't what you think.' "

My glare catches him.

"Noted," he says before putting his back to me and heading to his own locker.

It isn't what you think. I'd bet my lucky skates that it is exactly what I think.

When I'm in the quiet hall, I open my palm again and reread her note.

Meet me in the west wing bathrooms on level F.

-Cherry

I sigh and shove the note in my pocket.

But for some reason, instead of heading for my car, I turn and head for the stairs.

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