Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Yeah, and Stanley isn’t half as good as either of you. Well…he’s not as good as Fischer, anyway.”
“Fuck you,” Logan snorted without heat. “Let’s grab a beer. I told Kelly I’d swing by her place after.”
“After what…you jack off to some porn?” Troy taunted as he swept the puck from the cage.
Logan smacked Troy upside the helmet and skated out of reach.
I hung back and watched them, unseeing for a moment, then glanced over at the stands again just as Schultz and the mystery man walked off, leaving Coach behind. I sensed his stare, but I didn’t acknowledge him. We were far enough away to size each other up without having to fake polite chitchat.
Good thing too, ’cause I wasn’t sure what I’d say to him. “What the fuck?” worked, but my pride stopped me from making a fool of myself. Besides, my maturity had already been tested once today, and I was still reeling from it. I’d hoped an impromptu workout at the rink with some buddies would chase away old demons and keep me focused. But damn, I felt overwhelmed. And invisible.
And okay…a little jealous too. Which might have pissed me off the most ’cause Jason Schultz was a fine player. If a scout was interested in him, that was awesome. Really fucking awesome.
I took a deep breath and skated toward the exit, pausing to help one of the juniors up when he tripped over his blades and fell on his face while going after the puck. Poor kid was probably somewhere around nine. He looked miserable, like he wanted to cry. I could relate.
I dusted my gloves off and held my hand up for a high five. Then I skated toward the exit, flopped onto the metal bench outside the door, and bent to untie my laces. The temperature shift from the rink to the sweaty locker room was jarring in the summertime. I yanked my jersey over my head, pushed the locker room door open, and groaned.
“…moving fast, but I’m excited,” Schultz enthused.
“Congrats. That’s awesome, man. Put in a good word for the rest of us,” Logan replied.
“Well, he watched you out there just now,” Schultz said.
“That was a shootaround for fun. It didn’t count,” Troy huffed indignantly.
“Yeah, yeah. Coach mentioned it. He told him you guys were decent and that Fischer was a natural-born teacher.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked in greeting as I pulled my skates off and tossed them onto the ground beside my locker. “Congrats, by the way.”
Schultz grinned. “Thanks. You know, Coach thinks you could take his place someday. You’re all about mechanics, Fish. Why are you looking at me like that? It’s a good thing.”
I rolled my eyes, casting a cautious glance around the empty locker room before studying my teammates. Of the three of them, I had the most in common with Logan. We were both entering our fifth year of college, and I knew he sensed the same sort of pressure I did to figure out what came next. But Logan was an optimist. He took life in stride and was fond of saying things like, “Everything will work out.” It probably would for him. Logan was six two with light-brown hair and green eyes. We called him a chick magnet ’cause girls gravitated to him everywhere he went. Not that he noticed. He was clueless when it came to that kind of stuff.
Troy was a junior. He was super intense and crazy competitive about odd things. For example, he’d celebrated his twenty-first birthday a month ago and was on a quest to exercise his newfound right to order alcohol at every bar in town…even though he never finished a whole beer. Troy was my height with brown hair and brown eyes. He was one of those unremarkable-looking people who became interesting the second he started talking—you never knew what the hell he’d say next.
But Schultz was the real deal. He left every piece of himself on the ice every time he played. I’d be happier for the guy if I liked him a little more. However, it was hard to like a guy who made cracks about the “proficiency of my mechanics.” Who said shit like that? I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Which was nowhere. He was a six-foot-three brick house of a dude with Nordic good looks: blond hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw. He kind of reminded me of Sky, although Sky was godlike, handsome, and—okay…not good.
I flashed a tight-lipped smile at Schulz and huffed. “Every time you give me a compliment, I end up looking for the license plate of the truck that hit me.”
“You’re a paranoid psycho, Fischer. Being good at anything is a positive.” Schultz bumped fists with Troy and Logan, then came to stand in front of me. He punched my bicep lightly, lowering his voice for my ears only when he continued. “But being great is better.”