Tyler’s words made her feel very old. Only the young leapt into relationships head first and believed things would last. She couldn’t see the future as bright and shiny; too much was bound to go wrong.
But she had today—maybe tomorrow. Plenty of time to make some memories.
“Keep that up and I’m gonna think you only want me for one thing.” She folded her arms over her chest, slipped, then grabbed the boards with both hands.
“Right now, I do.” He put his gloved hand on the small of her back and eased her about a foot away from the boards. “I need you watching my back. We’ve got about five minutes to get you used to the ice again.”
Right then, she didn’t think five years would be enough, but after a couple of laps around the rink, she felt secure enough to speed up. The cold air stirred by sheer velocity made her feel more awake and alive than she’d felt in a long time. Tyler kept up without much effort, but she didn’t care. She giggled when he reached for her and spun away. Then flew backward, crossed her skates, and spun again.
She’d never make pro, but she was more than competent. An asset to her team. Which was good enough.
“All right, speedy.” Tyler caught her arm and swung her around. “Let’s see how you stick handle.”
He handed her the stick she’d dropped, then plunked down a puck between her skates.
She grinned and stroked the shaft of the stick with her gloved fist. “Seems like you thought my ‘stick’ handling was just fine.”
His jaw nearly hit the ice. Then he grinned and shook his head. “I’m starting to understand why the guys like spanking you so much.” He positioned the blade of his stick near hers. “Come on; let’s see if you can get away from me.”
I don’t want to get away from you, she thought, but she tapped the puck, sidestepped, then rammed her shoulder into Tyler’s stomach when he lunged for her. He grunted and almost fell over. She took advantage of his fumbling and jetted across the ice, careful to keep the puck centered on the white tape wrapped around her stick blade. She couldn’t move as fast as before, but she didn’t lose the puck once as she circled the net.
“You go, girl!” Chicklet clanged her stick against the goalpost. “Damn, I’m glad you’re wearing red.”
Me too. Slowing at center ice, Oriana panted and glanced over at the bench when Tyler called to her. They were about to get started.
Snow sprayed up from the ice and coated her legs. She tripped on her skates, righted herself, then glared up at Sloan.
“Not bad,” he said, reaching out to smooth a sweaty strand of hair off her cheek with his thick, gloved finger. “But we’re still going to cream you.”
“You sure about that, Captain?” She smirked and jutted her chin toward Tyler. “Tyler scored twenty-five goals his rookie year. You haven’t managed that in two seasons.”
She left Sloan to chew on that little fact and joined her teammates at the bench. Tyler handed her a bottle of purple Gatorade. She took a swig and made a face as the flavor of watered-down Jell-O coated her mouth.
Tyler leaned over the boards as she took a seat. “What did you say to him? He hasn’t budged since you skated away.”
“I reminded him your stats are better than his.” Sucking her tongue, she looked around for a bottle of water to get rid of the lingering gag-worthy taste. A man next to her spit a mouthful of red fluid in the general direction of the ice. She hid her mouth with her hand and discretely did the same.
“Ouch.” Tyler straightened and smoothed his red jersey. “You’ve got a mean streak, Oriana. I hope I never get you riled up.”
“I’m not . . .” She let her words trail off when the referee blew the whistle. Tyler skated to center ice.
To face Sloan.
The referee dropped the puck. Sloan swiped it out from under Tyler’s stick, passed it to his defenseman. And drove into Tyler, knocking the smaller man right off his feet.
Oriana cringed, but Tyler sprang up without missing a beat. He chased Sloan, intercepting a pass just inside the defensive zone. Then he snapped the puck across the ice to the red team’s left winger. The man fumbled the pass, but Tyler was already close enough to retrieve the puck. Sloan barreled after him, looking like a bull being taunted by a matador.
Near the boards, Tyler looked up just in time to avoid getting crushed. He scrambled forward, reached back for the puck. Sloan held him at arm’s length and kicked the puck loose with his skate. Then he took a shot. The puck completely missed the net.
“Between the pipes, Sloan!” Chicklet called out with a laugh. “Need glasses, old man?”
A defenseman from the red team cruised across the ice to touch the puck. The referee blew the whistle.
“You’re up,” the deli owner slash coach said from behind Oriana. She glanced over her shoulder, nodded, then climbed over the boards.
The black team had iced the puck, which meant they couldn’t make a line change. Oriana took her position and eyed Sloan. Lindsey stood beside him, speaking low. He shook his head and motioned for her to take the face-off. Then he slid into position across from Oriana.
“Ready, babe?” he asked.
Oriana blinked. His question tore her right out of her game mindset. She felt like her skates were glued to the ice. She heard the rap of sticks, the slash of blades, but for a moment, they meant nothing. All she could see was him, coming toward her.
Way too fast. If she didn’t do something, he’d skate right around her. The goaltender would be vulnerable. She ground her teeth and pushed off, jabbing her stick awkwardly between his feet. Shoving her elbow into his ribs, she forced him around the back of the net.
He chuckled when her stick finally connected with the puck. “Watch out.”
Something hit her side and all the air left her with a loud Oomph! Kneeling on the ice, she gulped in air and shook away the buzzing in her head. She looked up just in time to catch number seven skating away.
“Bitch.” She hissed before scrambling upright and jetting after the girl. Her blades slashed the ice as she raced across the rink. The girl didn’t have the puck, but Oriana didn’t care. She hit her with every ounce of strength in her body.
The rink twirled around her. She fell with Lindsey in a tangled heap.
“Interference!” The referee shouted, blasting his whistle before pointing at the penalty box. “Two minutes for the red team.”
“That was petty,” Sloan said, hauling her to her feet. His frown looked very dark under the shadow of his helmet. “Did you forget that this is just a game?”
Twisting away from him, Oriana retreated toward the penalty box. “I guess I did.”
Stuck in the penalty box, Oriana thought about her behavior and couldn’t help but be a little disgusted with herself. If any other player from the black team had checked her, she would have considered it part of the game.
“Just a game.” Sloan’s words played over and over inside her head. She watched him score and hung her head. How stupid to have forgotten that was all this was. Not just on the ice. The entire week had been one big game, a bit of lusty, grownup fun. And if she started acting all jealous, the game would end that much sooner.
She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. So she’d better smarten up.
The part of Slap Shot that she’d quoted to Tyler came back to her. Go to the box and feel shame. Yep, she could definitely relate.
When she got free, she returned to her defensive role and tried to make up for costing her team a goal. She managed to block a shot and make a few decent passes, but things still didn’t feel right.
She approached Sloan during the fifteen-minute break. Shuffling her feet, she did her best to keep her eyes on his face as he turned from Lindsey and arched a brow at her.
“Yes?” he asked after a long silence.
“I’m sorry.” She glanced at Lindsey and the words lumped up in her throat. “Really, going after you like that was uncalled for.”
Lindsey shrugged and smoothed her stringy blond ha
ir into a fresh ponytail. “It’s all right. Emotions get real ramped up during a game.” She gave Sloan a sly smile. “Right, Sir?”
Sloan’s pressed his lips together, his eyes trailing over Lindsey. “Sometimes.” He shook his head slowly, then tipped the water bottle in his hand to his lips. Capping the bottle, he looked at Oriana again as though surprised that she hadn’t left yet. “Was that all?”
“Yeah.” Oriana tripped backward, feeling like he’d just given her a good, hard shove. “See you on the ice.”
Her eyes burned as she made her way to the locker room. Chicklet met her at the door. The tight, irritated look on her face vanished the second she stepped up to Oriana.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Oriana tried to step around her, then sighed when Chicklet barred her arm across the doorway. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I took things too seriously. I know better now. It’s not a big deal.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re not talking about the game?” Chicklet sighed when she shrugged and took her arm. She shoved the locker room door open. “Everyone out. Us girls need to talk.”
The men filed out of the room. Tyler paused beside Oriana and shucked her helmet off her forehead.
“You okay?” He frowned at her nod. “Doesn’t look like you are. If you’re not enjoying yourself, we can leave.”
She forced a thin smile to her lips. “I’m enjoying myself. Honestly.”
Not at the moment, but she would—as soon as she put a lock on her irrational emotions.
“Fine, but you better tell me if something’s up,” Tyler said.
“I will.”
He hesitated, then cuffed her chin gently with the gritty knuckles of his stinky glove. “And don’t worry about that goal. I’ve got this.”
“I know you do.” She bit her lip and decided to let him believe the score bothered her. “I just wish I hadn’t taken such a stupid penalty.”
His relief was obvious. He grinned and leaned in for a kiss. “I take them all the time—not as much as I used to, but still, I get wanting to retaliate.” He slid his lips across her cheek and whispered in her ear. “Felt good though, right?”
That made her smile. “Actually, it did.”
“Good.” He pressed a soft kiss on her cheek and stepped back. “I’ll let you girls talk.”
The second the door to the locker room closed, Chicklet dragged her to the benches between the lockers and forced her to sit.
“Now talk.” She put her hands on her hips, looking lopsided with her huge goalie gloves and lumpy pads. She continued before Oriana could say a word. “Please tell me this isn’t because of what I said about Sloan and Lindsey. I just wanted to get you emotionally invested in the game.”
Oh, that’s just nasty. Oriana stared at Chicklet, then burst out laughing. “Well it worked—a little too well actually.”
Chicklet dropped her hands to her sides and slumped onto the bench. “Shit, kid, I didn’t mean—you gotta know he’s not really into that twit. She was a good time.”
“So was I.”
And there it was. She’d finally said it. She’d been a good time for Sloan and all the other men.
They were a good time for me, too. She kept her lips fixed in a smile that felt plastered to her face. “Actually, the whole thing with Sloan and Tyler and . . .” The smile twisted when Chicklet’s eyes widened. Maybe she shouldn’t tell her everything. “Well, it was kind of a rebound. I’d just found out my boyfriend cheated on me.”
Sounded so reasonable. If she didn’t know better, she might have believed her own lies.
Thankfully, Chicklet did. “I see. I’m a little surprised Sloan would bring a girl he wasn’t serious about to meet his dad, but what do I know?”
The locker room door swung open. The referee grinned at them. “Break’s over!”
Oriana stood and took a deep breath. The talk hadn’t changed much, but she did feel a little better. Even if she’d portrayed herself as a slut, at least she didn’t seem quite so pathetic.
Really, getting hung up over a guy after a gang bang. She chewed hard on her bottom lip to hold back the hysterical laughter that bubbled up inside. Silver would find that pretty damn funny.
Chicklet followed her to the door. “So—if you don’t mind me asking—what exactly are you and Sloan to one another?”
She didn’t mind the question at all. Saying it out loud would reaffirm what she already knew. “Friends.”
Fuck friends. She added to herself. Because that’s what Max needs us to be.
A tight ache settled in her chest, and she inhaled deep to loosen it. Once she got back to the benches, she grabbed a bottle of water and gulped the whole thing down, but that didn’t help either. She just missed Max. The feeling would go away as soon as she saw him again.
But every time Sloan passed her on the ice, the ache got a little worse. Like she’d swallowed something big and hard whole. And was trying to swallow more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Third period. The teams were tied. Tyler scored on a soft shot. Sixteen seconds later, one of the high school players deked Sloan and beat the goaltender stick side.
Sloan usually hated playing here. He refused to ruin the rare games he played in his father’s adopted home town by complaining, but he considered performing for the locals about as fun as having his jaw wired shut. The people on the ice didn’t play; they watched him in awe while circling the rink at a pathetically slow pace. He didn’t see the point.
Today was different. Oriana’s presence helped them relax, and Tyler’s enthusiasm spurred the red team to attack with no holds barred. Which forced the black team to strike back. Sloan almost felt like he was playing a real game.
A quick change put Oriana on the ice just as he crossed the red line. He grinned as she swept her stick from side to side to cover the passing lanes. The hard line of her delicate jaw told him she’d do everything in her power to keep him from breaching her defense of the red’s zone. Swishing his stick through the water still coating the ice after hasty repairs, easily keeping the puck on the blade, he slowed and looked her over.
“You really think you can stop me, Oriana?” He let her get close enough to touch the puck, then spun smoothly away when she jabbed at the rubber disk with her stick. “You might as well give up; you can’t win.”
“Enough with the head games, Sloan. I’m not impressed or intimidated.” Oriana widened her stance, retreating in pace with his advance. “Just make your move.”
“All right.” He glanced to the left and careened a pass to the plumber playing forward. “How’s that?”
Oriana scowled, then turned to chase the man with the puck. Sloan watched her dive to block the shot and winced. The girl was going to be sore after the game.
The plumber saucered the puck over her. Chicklet snapped it out of the air and poke-checked the plumber when he charged the net. The plumber spiraled out of control and hit the post. Sloan paused for a second to make sure the man wasn’t seriously hurt, then turned to Oriana.
“Look at you.” He slid up to her side, laughing when she swiped a glove hand down her soaked side. “You’re all wet, babe. Doesn’t take much, does it?”
Her cheeks reddened and she fisted her hands at her sides. Breathing hard, she blinked fast, probably trying to come up with a clever come-back. “Fuck you, Sloan.”
Oh, you can do better than that. He chuckled. “Not here. We’d shock the locals.”
“Oh, you . . . !” She let out a muffled screech, her narrowed eyes tearing. “Right now, you are the last person in the world I’d even consider sleeping with. And I’ve got four other guys perfectly willing to give me anything I want. Consider that before you say anything else.”
Better. Much better. He nodded and watched her skate to the reds’ bench. She didn’t like what he had to say? Fine. He’d give her exactly what she’d asked for. Might not be what she really wanted, but she’d learn.
Back on his own bench, Sloan took off his helmet and emptied a bottle of water over his head. The arena felt like a sauna, which explained why the ice was still wet. The weather in the spring often made for unstable conditions. During a game that actually mattered, he didn’t let that affect his play, but here, he’d taken care not to give his all and risk an injury. He eyed Tyler, zipping across the ice at breakneck speed and decided he should take the boy aside and remind him a win here wasn’t worth his career.
Lindsey leaned over and nudged him with her elbow. “I don’t know why you brought her here.”
Sloan shrugged and reached for another bottle of water, not in the mood to talk, hoping Lindsey would catch on.
But she didn’t.
“I mean, really, look at her!” Lindsey’s nostrils flared. “She’s been all over that kid since she got here! They’re not dating, are they?” When Sloan didn’t answer, she made a gagging sound. “That’s just gross.”
“Why?” He glanced over at the red team’s bench. Shift over, Tyler shuffled past the other players and took a seat at Oriana’s side. He pressed against her, his cheap, borrowed helmet pushing hers almost off her head as their brows touched. Sounded sappy as hell, but they looked kind of cute together. He shook his head when Tyler slipped his hand under Oriana’s jersey and she giggled. Didn’t the boy know there was no tickling in hockey?
“He’s what, eighteen? She’s way too old for him.”
What the hell was Lindsey going on about? “He’s twenty-one. There’s only three years between them. It’s not like she’s cradle-robbing.”
“It’s a fact that women mature faster than men,” Lindsey said, as though his statement was based on ignorance. “So those three years are more like ten.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sloan chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”
“Not really.” She gave him a sheepish grin, then ducked her head. “That’s not what’s bugging me, to tell you the truth.” She lowered her voice, glancing at the rest of the bench to make sure no one was listening. “When she’s not groping the kid, she’s staring at you. All the girls were whispering about it in the locker room. Is she one of those trashy puck bunnies who chases pro-hockey dick?”
GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) Page 22
