8. Hayden

CHAPTER 8

HAYDEN

"Owens, we're not at the driving range," Miller calls the next morning during practice. "Don't rear back so far."

I huff a laugh and adjust my swing, sending the puck hurtling toward Streicher in the net.

"Nice." Miller watches while I work through the rest of the pucks.

By the boards, Ward makes notes. It's one of our lighter practices of the week. We're focusing on detailed work like wrist shots and snap shots, but I can't tell whether I'm living up to his expectations.

Eventually, Ward blows his whistle.

"That's good for today," he calls to us, gesturing to the bench. The third-line forwards hit the ice and we skate away.

My gaze strays to the other end of the ice, where Volkov's working with the assistant coach and the second-line defenseman they moved into my old spot on the first line. It feels strange not playing with him anymore, like I'm wearing new shoes that need breaking in.

"So what's this shit about teaching Darcy to be a player?" Miller asks with a smirk as we head to the dressing room.

I bite back a groan. I was hoping he'd forget, but knowing Rory Miller, there was no fucking way. I adopt my own cheeky smirk.

"Why? Do you want in on those lessons?"

He laughs. "Those days are long gone for me, buddy. I'm locked down for life." A proud grin stretches across his face, and there's a weird pang in my chest.

In the dressing room, I pull my practice jersey off and sit to unlace my skates while Miller drinks water.

"She feels like she missed out on things while she was with Kit, and she wants to date again. Who better to teach her than the master?" I puff my chest out and give him a cocky grin.

In this moment, it doesn't feel like something to be proud of. So I've dated a lot. So what?

"Why doesn't she just practice with you?" He tips his chin at me, smiling.

"We're friends."

He stares at me for a long beat. Back in December, we went to a bar, and the night ended with me dropping a very drunk Miller off at his apartment to Hazel with a brand-new tattoo he got for her. He probably doesn't remember the talk we had about Darcy and Kit or how I was feeling weird about Kit hinting at them getting engaged.

I hope he doesn't remember, at least.

"You're friends," Miller echoes. "And that's why you insisted she live with you?"

"Yep."

"And that's why you're going to teach her how to fuck other guys?"

Sharp, hot jealousy races through me, and my molars grit. I pick a point on the opposite wall and burn a hole through it with my gaze. "It's not like that."

"Sure, it is," Miller says. "You're going to teach her everything you know and then send her off to live happily ever after with another guy."

I suck a deep breath in through my nose, trying to get a hold of the anger surging through me.

I fucking hate that image.

At the bar that night, a guy walked past our table, his eyes all over Darcy. If I weren't there, he'd stop to talk to her. He'd buy her a drink, maybe two or three. Darcy's smart—the smartest person I know—but she's a lightweight. Maybe he'd make some dumb, transparent excuse to get her to his place. Maybe she doesn't want to but doesn't know how to say no. Maybe she's had too much to drink to get home on her own.

The nightmare sends a cold streak through me, chilling my blood.

Thanks for keeping an eye on her , Kit texted when he found out she was staying at my place.

Eating gravel sounds better than watching Darcy learn to hit on guys, but at least this way, I can watch out for her.

"She wants my help." I pull my skates off. "She's my roommate and my friend, and she's fresh out of a relationship. I'm not going to be some fucking creep, hitting on her and making it weird when she clearly doesn't want that."

She chose Kit over me, after all. If she wanted me, wouldn't she have made a move at some point in the last eight years?

I'm not the guy women settle down with. I'm the guy they get things out of their system with. Jessica Haley made that clear in eleventh grade when we lost our virginity to each other and then she dumped me. I put so much effort into making sure our first time was good for her, that she felt comfortable and safe and got enjoyment out of it, that she told her friends. She told everyone . After we broke up, her friend Keeley found me at a party, pulled me into a closet, and informed me that she wanted to experience my skills firsthand.

It happened at a party the next weekend with another girl. And the next weekend. I didn't brag about these encounters, but the girls talked, and I earned myself a reputation for being a player.

Mr. Right Now , I was voted in high school. I still remember the way Kit laughed until he was red in the face, doubled over with his yearbook open.

Women don't pick a guy like me, not long term. I'm fine with it, and I accepted it a long time ago.

"I told Driedger I'd look out for her," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. "She wants to learn how to date, so I'll show her how to date." I stand and adopt a casual expression that conveys how little I care about this, how indifferent I am. "Darcy and I have fun together, and it makes no difference to me who she dates."

Besides, I don't have those feelings for her anymore.

I shoot him a confident grin. "And you're forgetting one thing, Miller."

"Yeah?" He arches a brow, mouth tilted in that fucking annoying knowing way of his. "What's that?"

"She's not my type," I lie. "I like tall, dark hair, and curvy."

That's the type of woman I date, but it's not my type.

My type is Darcy Andersen.

Hayden's the biggest player you'll ever meet , Kit told her at the party, grinning at me.

He said it like it was a good thing, when really, it crushed my chances with the first girl I'd ever really connected with.

She shot me a knowing grin. I can see it. He's too good-looking to be monogamous .

So much for thinking I could start fresh.

My jaw works, and something flickers in Miller's eyes that I don't like. Compassion, I think.

"I'm not buying it," he says .

I rack my brain for something funny and irreverent to say, but I'm coming up blank. I hate that he's smarter than he looks and acts, and I really hate that I'm not smart enough to fool him.

He claps me on the shoulder as he passes, and I tense.

"That's okay," he says, walking to the showers. "I'll be here when you're ready for advice."