Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Jacobs and I fly down the ice, passing the puck back and forth. I have the chance to take a shot, but Jacobs has a better angle. I sail the puck in his direction, and he shoots.
It moves like a bullet through the air, right by the goalie’s head, and the lamp lights up.
Like the overgrown, testosterone-filled, bulldozers we are, we throw our arms around each other to celebrate and almost fall over on our skates.
“Fuck yes!” I yell.
And then my eyes catch on him. Right there in the crowd, sitting next to my brother, is the cutest guy on campus.
I take my helmet and gloves off, running a hand through my sweaty hair, and give him a wink as I skate back to the team box.
My game only picks up from there. Not our game—mine.
It might be the whole caveman, look, I have skills thing. Only, unlike back in caveman days where they would do something productive like fish or make fire, I’m putting a six-ounce disc into a net.
I am man.
New Hampshire manages to get one past our goalie, but the game finishes at 4–1 in our favor, and the team is ecstatic.
“Celebration at McIntyre’s,” Beck yells as soon as we hit the locker room.
“I’m pretending I didn’t hear you invite underage kids to a bar, Beckett,” Coach says.
We all laugh except for Jacobs who likes to pretend Beck doesn’t exist.
“Good game. Hit the showers. And don’t get too wasted. Practice is at seven on Monday morning. You need to be recovered by then.”
Our coach is the best.
“We were fucking awesome out there,” Jacobs says.
“They got scored on more than your sister,” Cohen calls out.
Jacobs looks confused. “Who’s sister? I don’t have a sister.”
Cohen waves a hand. “Everyone’s sister.”
I laugh and shake my head.
We all shower and get dressed in our suits like the good little boys we are, and then I leave to try to find Zach and Seth to invite them out.
They’re outside the arena, and I curse that they’re with Mom and Dad. I want to kiss Zach hello. I want to wrap my arm around him.
Dad steps forward first to shake my hand. “Best playing I’ve seen you do.”
“T-thanks.”
My gaze goes to those green eyes I’ve missed these past two weeks, but Zach glances away.
“Good work, sweetie.” Mom kisses my cheek. “Go kill ’em. And whatever.”
I snort.
“The team is heading to McIntyre’s if you two want to come,” I say casually to Seth and Zach.
Zach goes to open his mouth, but Seth cuts him off.
“We’ll be there.”
“Cool. I’m gonna go ditch my bag in my dorm. See you there?”
“Sure thing.”
“Have fun,” Dad says.
Mom leans in. “Not too much fun. And remember to wrap it! Don’t want no college pregnancies, thank you very much.”
Zach starts choking on thin air.
“Thanks, Mom. For being so … mom-like. You can go home now.”
Seth’s trying to hold back his laughter.
As soon as our parents walk away, Seth can’t hold it in anymore.
“I totally didn’t think about how fun this whole thing could be with you two—”
Zach pulls on Seth’s arm. “We’ll see you at the bar!”
Okay, that was weird. I think. Was it weird, or is it just Zach being Zach? Our weekend was amazing, and I was sure by the end of it he’d reached a new level of comfort with me, but maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe the past two weeks when we haven’t been able to see each other reset any progress on that front.
By the time I get across campus to drop my bag off at my dorm and walk the fifteen minutes to the bar, the whole place is buzzing, and I can barely move through the crowd to get to my teammates.
I get back slaps and congratulations from a heap of people I don’t know, and it never gets old.
It might once I’ve been playing professionally for a few years, but right now, this is my moment—the team’s moment—and I love every second of it.
I quickly glance around the bar but can’t find Seth or Zach even though they should’ve beaten me here.
Finally, there’s a break in the crowd, and I reach the back where the team is.
“Here’s the man of the hour,” Jacobs yells and thrusts a drink into my hand.
“Thanks!” It’s so loud in here, I don’t know if he hears me.
“Where’s your man?”
“He said he’d be here.”
“I saw him before with your brother.” He looks over my head. “Somewhere.”
So he is here. “I’m gonna go find him.”
As much as I want to celebrate tonight, I also want Zach next to me when it happens.
With the season starting, my schedule is tighter than ever before, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to hang out with him when I know they’re going to be few and far between.
I do a few laps of the bar, but people try to pull me in a million different directions. They want to talk about the game, about my almost-hat-trick, and everything hockey.