Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Official practice starts next Monday, and it’ll be different than the camp because we'll be focusing mainly on drills, scenarios, and practice play. For three weeks now you guys were given the opportunity to really hone and enhance your skills. Now I want to see what you can do with them as a team.”
There are a few murmurs that echo throughout the locker room as we all glance around at the people surrounding us.
There are so many new faces, and despite the camp allowing us time to get to know each other, it's not like we're all sharing the bonds of brotherhood over here. I mean, maybe the four veterans are, but Stokehill, Torrington, Ritchford, and Kiplin have played together for three years. They have a bond we’ll have to earn as a team.
I just hope to hell we’ll have the opportunity to do that. If we win, our team stays together longer. If we lose? Players will be getting dropped and traded like baseball cards.
“I expect each of you to show up to practice on Monday ready to perform as a team. I know we have a huge number of newcomers, but this camp should’ve gotten us over the stranger danger jitters. I'm ready to see what our new team is made of, and I know it's going to be a winning one.”
There are a few whoops and hollers as Coach nods and heads out of the locker room, leaving us to shower and get dressed.
“Speaking of the skate coach, how are those private lessons going?” Ritchford asks as he gets undressed in front of his locker.
“I'm faster,” I say. “Her exercises have really built up my explosive power. Now the other guys are really fucked,” I add for good measure.
Ritchford nods, wrapping a towel around his hips. “Anything else happening there?” he asks, a giant suggestion of intention behind his eyes as he looks me up and down.
I study him. “Why, did your best friend say something?”
It’s no secret that Pax and our resident massage slash physical therapist, Monroe, are best friends. She also happens to be best friends with Blakely, so it’s likely that some of our more intimate moments got passed through the grapevine to him.
I’m not about to offer the information freely because I'm not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, but it’ll be hard to deny it if he already knows.
“Why? Would there be something for her to tell me?” he fires back, nothing but mild curiosity on his face.
As far as the vets go, he’s certainly the easiest to get along with. He has this chill vibe about him that only dissipates when he steps onto the ice. Then all calm evaporates and he goes into pure beast mode.
I shrug, rummaging through my things for my shower stuff.
Stokehill whistles conspicuously to my left, and I glance at him curiously. He shakes his head. “Did you not hear Coach the first day? You're supposed to be treating that one like your grandmother.”
“That’s an impossible ask,” I respond. “And who's to say I'm treating her like anything? She's helping me with my skating techniques, same as anyone else would during camp or private lessons.”
Pax flashes me a knowing look, and I cringe internally. Apparently, he knows more than he's letting on. I give another shrug, trying to appear as chill as possible. “We're friends,” I say.
“She's funny. And smart. And we're keeping it casual—”
“Oh, damn,” Stokehill says. “You mean there's something to keep casual?” He sucks his teeth. “You're so fucked dude.”
“I am not,” I say. Then nod at Pax. “This one is BFFs with our physical therapist. You don't see anybody barking up his ass about it.”
“I've known her forever,” Pax fires back at the same time that Stokehill says, “He's not trying to fuck her.”
Pax clears his throat, digging through his locker while ignoring Stokehill. Wonder what that's about.
“Wait a minute,” I say furrowing my brow. “Who says I'm trying to fuck the skate coach?”
“You better fucking not be,” Kiplin's voice snaps behind us. “Because I promise you that way leads to a world of trouble.” He steps to the other side of the small bench separating us, looking at me with that fuck the world attitude he always wears on his face. “Are you?”
I square off with him, not showing an inch of the truth on my face.
Did I want to feel Blakely’s legs wrapped around my hips as I pound into her relentlessly? Hell fucking yes.
Have I acted on it? Hell fucking no.
Blakely and I are walking a thin line between friendship, colleagues, and lust-starved tension on a daily basis, but she’s in control. Did that make me weak? Probably. But I wasn't pushing anything on her she didn't want.
“No,” I finally answer him.
Kiplin's brows draw together, his eyes scanning me like he's searching for deception. He's not going to find any, because I'm not actively trying to seduce her. We have a mutual agreement, one that proved pretty damn effective two weeks ago when I attended the figure skating event with her.