I question if I’ve done a good enough job because if I have then why is my heart racing so fast? I take a few slow breaths and use my water bottle to suck down some water. The guys are doing well tonight. The team is pumped. Boston fights their asses off for the puck. One second, we’ve lost the puck and they’re close to scoring on us, and the next we get it back. Boston shoots at our net but our goalie, Wyatt James, blocks and the fans in the stands go wild. I think of Poppy. The way her sweet lips tasted. I want more. More of her sweetness and her openness, her honesty. She wears her emotions on her sleeve, I keep mine on lockdown. I give my head a shake when Coach signals to me I’m back on the ice. I don’t have time to think of a girl.
This time Bozeman is at face-off. The puck drops and I have to hand it to Bozeman, he hits the puck straight across the ice. The guy is a beast. This time Evan Hayworth and I are the wingers. He’s a good guy. We skate our asses off. Leo makes a pass and Hayworth misses. A guy from Boston’s team sweeps in and steals the puck. He manages to get into our zone. He’s so close to the net that we risk a shot. Bozeman moves in just as he’s about to score and steals the shot. The guy is lightning fast. He takes the puck around the back of the net and shoots it back out to Charles. A guy from Boston’s team checks Charles into the boards and he loses the puck, but Hayworth moves in again and saves the puck. He shoots across the ice. I make a shot to the net and miss. Fuck me. I need to get out of my head. Boston gets a hold of the puck again and it’s another round across the ice. By the end of the second period we are tied. This is fucking bad. These games matter in terms of our ranking for the beginning of the season. Back in the locker room, Coach Cooper lays into us. It’s his way of mentally prepping us to win.
“You good?” Ryse asks on our way back out to the arena.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Why?”
“You seemed distracted. I don’t know.” He shrugs.
He isn’t wrong. I’m so fucking worried about drafting this year it’s hurting my game.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. I just need to shake this off.
“Okay,” he says and we all head out to the arena.
The third period is much smoother. We steal the puck twice but Boston’s goalie is good at blocking our shots. They make it to our side of the ice and shoot but Wyatt blocks them too. We manage to get the puck again. This time Ryse and I are changing things up. He wants me to go in for the assist. When the opportunity comes up, I shoot. Ryse skates around one of the Boston players and he slaps the puck right into the upper right corner of the net. The goalie isn’t expecting the puck to hit that way and blocks too low. It enters the net and the crowd goes wild.
Ryse comes around and we high-five each other. The game ends with us in a 3-2 lead.
“That was a close call, men,” Coach Cooper says loudly back in the locker rooms.
It was a damn close call.
“You played hard but I expect better. Tomorrow night we play the Saklan Bulldogs. Former champions. They would put Boston in their back pockets. You will need to fight hard. Go get some rest and bring your best tomorrow night.”
Coach leaves the locker room. Most of us head to the showers.
When I leave the dressing room, Poppy is waiting for me. Her hair flows down her shoulders. She’s wearing a cropped sweater and a tight pair of blue jeans, along with the Doc Martens she wore the other night. She’s also wearing her glasses and I find her to be breathtakingly beautiful, which causes a nice dose of guilt to surface inside me. Ryse is one of my best friends. He’s basically my other half on the ice.
“Hi,” I greet her, and I can’t help but stare at her full lips.
“Hi yourself.” She smiles. “Good game. Congrats.” She’s holding her notepad and pen.
“Do you want to head somewhere you know. . . to talk?” I ask. What I really want to be doing is kissing this girl again because it felt so damn good and left me smiling afterward just thinking about it, which is a rarity for me.
“Hey, Poppy.” Ryse leaves the locker room with a bag on his shoulder. He walks over to his sister and pecks her on the head.
“Good game,” she says to him.
“Thanks.” His grin is wide. They really don’t look alike at all. I’d never guess they were siblings.
Ryse then brings his attention to me. “Heard Poppy is writing the Spotlight on you for The Gazette. Keep it respectful and don’t spend too much time with her.”
“Ryse, are you freaking kidding me right now?” Poppy whines.
“No,” Ryse says to her, looking offended.
“Ryse, this is for my place in the paper. Don’t screw this up for me,” Poppy scolds him.
“Give her what she needs, McAvoy,” he says to me. “And don’t get any smart ideas. You’re my friend, I don’t want to have to cut your nuts off.”
I wince and feel the need to cup myself but I don’t. If he only knew the dirty thoughts I had of his sister after kissing her. Damn.
“Scout’s honor.” I lift my left hand. Or is it supposed to be my right?
“Can we do the interview now?” Poppy asks, sounding all business.
I nod. “Where should we go?”
“To a public place,” Ryse answers.
“Can you please leave?” Poppy asks, staring at her brother wide eyed. Their little bantering reminds me of Logan, my kid brother. I used to ride his ass hard about playing hockey or when he had a crush on a girl.
“Fine,” Ryse says and takes his index and middle fingers and places them at his eyes, and then turns them on me like he is watching me.
“Stop being fucking weird,” I laugh.
He laughs too. “Fine, just don’t fucking touch my sister.”
“Fine,” I agree, mocking the tone he just used with me.
He leaves toward the exit of the arena. I bring my attention back to Poppy. She’s smiling and her teeth bite into her lower lip, and damn, I want to kiss her.
ELEVEN
Poppy
“So how did you feel about the game tonight?” I ask him.
He looks so good in a dark blue thermal shirt that hugs his broad chest and biceps, and his washed-out pair of blue jeans hug his ass and thighs in the best way possible. His gray eyes take me in and they appear bluer now that he’s wearing the shirt. He has a twinkle in his eyes as his gaze drops to my lips.
“Off the record or on the record?” he smirks.
I groan, “You’re making my life very difficult.”
“I really don’t mean to be,” he says, and I sense the honesty of that statement.
“If you tell me off the record then I can’t use it,” I say, as if it’s isn’t obvious.
“Exactly,” he answers.
“You’re infuriating too.”
“I’m just complying with what Coach asked me to do. I don’t know what to say. My family life stinks and I don’t really want a spotlight on them,” he explains.
“Let’s just focus on how hard you worked to make it to a Division 1 team and how you feel about drafting,” I suggest.
“Sounds good. Want to head out and get a bite to eat?” he asks.