Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Fucking around isn’t worth the risk, which is why I spend the time people think I’m wheelin’ road rockets in long showers, reading Sloan Mathers novels, and on the special occasion enjoying some Hentai – both in magna and anime forms.”
While it would be easy to focus on the obvious portion of that statement, I decide to take a page out of his playbook.
Keep him on the offense versus pushing him back into the defense.
Crossing my ankles is accompanied by settling the stuffed toy in my lap. “You think I might like Sloan’s books?”
“Probably. Her suspense to sex to romance stats are pretty fucking good.”
“Wanna tell me which one to start with and then maybe…we can text about it while you’re on the road?” Hope soars into my gaze. “Maybe it won’t be so lonely if you’re talking to me while the boys are out catching herpes or spreading them?”
The man across from me lets his entire head fall back on a loud, body shaking laugh that causes my toes to curl.
“I’m just sayin…” Small giggles join his boisterous sounds. “Like Make Me Better Moose, I’m here for the assist.”
Igor struggles to quiet his amusement yet when he does, he steals a long, slow lick of his lips and sighs, “And there’s no one I’d rather have on it than you, Joeski…”
Chapter 12
Igor
“Fuck, Coach,” Matej “Matty” Horák, one of our forwards complains, Czech accent growing heavier than usual indicating he’s about to go off in his native tongue. “Tohle je malá liga!”
I lean onto my stick at the same time Blanc releases an exasperated sigh. “English, Matty.”
“This…” his mitt covered hand flails around in obvious annoyance, “is new to league shit.” More irritation floods his dark brown glare. “Why this practice for us?”
“Funny comin’ from a fourth liner, aye,” Hedgie needlessly antagonizes to my left.
“Čtyři tohle,” Matty chirps back on a squeeze of his crotch.
“Pass.” Hedgie laughs while shaking his head. “Hard. Pass.”
Blanc momentarily tips his face to the ceiling demonstrating his own frustration.
Can’t blame him.
I mean yeah, he knew what he signed up for when Hot Rocket gutted the team, recruited a ton of still developing rookies, and callups, but that doesn’t make the shit any less aggravating.
People think herding cats is hard.
Try controlling undertrained hockey players.
“You know what?” Coach lowers his attention back down and lets a mischievous grin grow in place. “Why don’t we ask Cap what he thinks? Hm?” His calculated stare cuts to me. “You think the boys need to do more speed skating drills?”
“I think being outskated by the Hellcats was fuckin’ embarrassing.”
“We won,” Matty reminds as if that’s all that matters.
“In OT,” I grunt in displeasure. “To the last team in our division.”
“Yeah, that shit was fucking embarrassing for me,” Blanc juvenilely taunts, “and I wasn’t the one gettin’ lapped out there.”
Matty rolls his eyes – determined to maintain his place as the biggest pain in my ass this season – prompting me to state, “How about this, Matty? Start on the defensive end and score. You make it past our first D line? You can call it for pracky.”
Misplaced arrogance has him prematurely smirking.
“You don’t?” My head tilts slightly to the right. “You bring Coach his game day order ‘til Christmas Break.”
Blanc beams brighter than the rink lights. “Oh, I like that…”
“Side bets welcome?” Snowman interjects on a loudmouth laugh.
“I want in on that action, aye,” WonderWahl impishly grins. “There’s still a shit ton of Vegas in my blood.”
Not smiling is surprisingly difficult. “Eto na nem.”
“You know I don’t speak Russian,” Matty grumps on a displeased glare.
“And you know we don’t speak Czech but do it anyway,” Hedgie doesn’t hesitate to point out.
“It means, side bets are up to you, Matty.” The small shrug that leaves me is attached to a cold tone. “It’s your ass beating.”
He shoves his glove covered palm at me. “Sázka.”
Pretty sure that means “bet” is what has me connecting my grip to his and repeating the word, “Sázka.”
Matty moves his hand over to Snowman and Wahl, “You lose? Drinks on you for the rest of season.”
Snowman shakes first yet its Wahl who speaks during the sealing of the deal, “Fuck, I love easy money.”
“Boys, off the ice!” Blanc instructs, motioning everyone else over to the bench. “Cap.” The single head nod is firm. “Wahl.” He receives the same action. “Make it hurt.”
WonderWahl turns to face me and sticks his hand out for our handshake.
Two solid palm strikes are followed by us pounding our fists one after the other against our own individual chests while barking out “ra” on each hit.
“It’s like watchin’ King Kong and Godzilla team up,” Snowman cackles as the two of us skate to the faceoff zone where Matty’s waiting.
“On the whistle!” Blanc shouts once we’re in position on the outside of the circle.
Wahl and I momentarily lock eyes, exchange solid nods, and angle the toes of our sticks for the play.