Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
No. Not going to happen.
I refocus my attention on Garret Akeman as he skates toward me with the puck. Behind the cage, his lips spread into a slow smile. If there’s one guy who is enjoying my fall from grace, it’s him.
Asshole.
We came in together as freshmen and have not so quietly been competing for the past three years. And since Coach K preferred me over him, it wasn’t a contest.
Not really.
Wouldn’t you know that the new guy thinks Akeman can do no wrong?
“Looks like your position is up for grabs, McAdams. Who would have guessed that you’d peak before the end of college? Sucks to be you.”
I don’t bother with a response. Instead, I knock into his shoulder and skate past.
The rest of practice only goes downhill from there. Every little thing I do, Philips is there with a complaint.
I need to work on my positioning. I’m giving my opponent too much space to make a play.
I’m not getting my stick in the passing lanes.
I’m not taking the body when I have the chance.
My decision-making needs work.
By the time I hop off the ice, my muscles ache and I want to smash my fist into something.
Preferably Akeman’s smug face.
I swear, every time Coach bellowed at me, Garret was right there with a shit-eating grin plastered across his mug. I don’t know how I’ll get through an entire season of this.
I seriously don’t.
That thought is enough to send me mentally spiraling.
Every time I step onto the ice for practice, I tell myself that this will be the one where I turn it around.
That has yet to happen. Only now am I beginning to wonder if it ever will.
I shove my way into the locker room and throw my stick in the rack near the door before stalking inside and dropping onto the bench as if the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders. Sweat rolls down the back of my neck as I unsnap my helmet and yank it off my head.
Ford does the same before shaking out his hair. “That guy really has it out for you.”
I glare. “Gee, what gave you that idea? The fact that he gives me a colonoscopy every damn time I’m on the ice?”
He snorts. “Nice image.”
With a shrug, I jerk the practice jersey over my head and rip away the straps on the shoulder pads. Everything that happened during the two-hour practice circles viciously through my brain as I get to work on my skates. Every fuckup. Every time he yelled my name. It plays on a constant loop.
All around me, there’s laughter and chatter as boisterous voices fill the space. Convos turn to the parties that are happening around campus. A few of the guys talk about heading to Slap Shotz, a local sports bar where the hockey team likes to congregate. The place is something of an institution at Western.
After the reaming I’ve just been treated to, I’m not in the mood for either option.
I’m too fucking pissed.
At myself.
But mostly at Philips for coming along and not only fucking with my season but my confidence as well.
“Sounds like everyone’s heading over to your house after this,” Ford says, interrupting the churn of my thoughts.
Awesome. Just what I wanted. Sulking in private is no longer an option unless I want to hole up in my room for the rest of the night.
I drag a hand over my face and consider the option.
“Dude, you need to chill out and just relax. A little pussy will help with that,” Ford continues when I remain silent.
When the hell was the last time I got laid?
A couple weeks ago?
I rack my brain for an answer.
Christ. Could it actually be longer than that?
As soon as Philips tanked everything on the ice for me, my mojo with the ladies pretty much nosedived as well. For all I know, it could be months. I just haven’t been interested.
Maybe Ford’s right.
Maybe I need to sink inside a nice soft female.
Sure, it won’t solve my issues on the ice, but it might help me forget about them for a couple of hours.
At this point, I’ll take anything I can get.
CHAPTER 5
JULIETTE
“If there aren’t any further questions on the material, you’re all dismissed. See you next week.”
As soon as the word dismissed falls from Dr. Bell’s lips, everyone explodes into action. Books and computers are shoved into bags before students flee the classroom like rats from a burning building.
It’s kind of comical.
And maybe I’d even appreciate the humor in it if I weren’t one of those people trying to scurry from the room. Unlike a good number of my classmates, it’s not because I don’t enjoy the professor or his lecture. On the contrary, bio stats is one of my favorite courses.
I’m pretty sure that makes me a nerd.
Can I help it if I find the concepts and information fascinating?