Might as well give her a lesson in chirping.
“Who taught you how to tape a twig?” I ask. Jaysen’s got a single strip of black tape along the bottom edge of the blade and white tape from middle to toe. It’s the most atrocious tape job I’ve ever seen.
He plants the butt of his stick on the ice and practically cradles the blade, drawing a finger along the black strip. “This gives me enough grip to catch a pass while also being thin enough to give me a better feel for the puck.” He jabs at the white tip. “This grips the puck right before it comes off the shot and gives it a wicked spin.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Makes you look like a duster.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and my heart stutters like I’m in danger. “Makes me play like a first overall draft pick.”
I let out this quiet little chuckle and shake my head, looking away from him. He’s absolutely delusional.
“So that’s what gets a reaction out of you, huh, Your Grace?” Jaysen tilts his chin up, sliding closer. “A challenge to your birthright?”
My eyes narrow at the title. First Nova, now him? Does he not realize he’s a Royal now, too?
“Trust me,” I drawl. “You’re no challenge.”
He gets in my space, towering over me so I have to look up at him. He’s taken his piercings out for hockey, but I’ve seen enough pictures of him off the ice to know exactly where they’d go. Black hoops in his nose and lip. The silver chain of a necklace glitters against his dark brown skin, and even though he’s sneering at me, he’s got dimples that make me want to punch myself in the face.
I refuse to give him ground, even with my heart racing and palms sweating in my gloves.
Before he gets a word out, Zero skates up and says, “This is hockey time, boys. You can make out later.”
Jaysen backs away from me so quickly, there’s no way he sees how my cheeks flush.
He gets even more aggressive with his checks after that, and I’m just glad we all decided to gear up for this. It takes all my power to keep my expression neutral. I’m doing a pretty good job of it, until Jaysen clips me on the shoulder after a goal and almost sends me sprawling. I barely keep my feet under me and that’s about as much as I can take.
“What’s your deal?” I ask. I manage to keep my voice just as dead as he expects it to be, but I twist my grip on my stick, heart pounding. “Mad you’re not the best player on your team anymore?”
Jaysen tilts his head to the side, putting all his weight on one foot and casually slouching his shoulders. “Nah. Just thinking about how much you don’t deserve to be here.”
I pull my head back, screwing my face up in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean there’s hundreds of other guys that’ll never get to be here because you’re taking up their space, with a scholarship you don’t need, exposure you don’t need. You have no reason to be here.”
I scoff. Okay, buddy. I am officially done with this. I turn to head off the ice, but Jaysen hooks gloved fingers under my practice jersey and tugs me back to him. It feels like I’m about to combust. I grip my stick so hard my knuckles ache.
“I worked for this, too,” I snap.
He laughs, but it’s this bitter, angry sound. I’ve never dropped the gloves for a fight before, but man, I am so beyond tempted right now.
“Yeah,” he snaps back. “You had to work real hard with a name like that.”
I shove him. A full-on crosscheck to the chest with all my weight behind it. He barely budges. He pushes his fingers through the cage of my helmet and yanks my head toward him. I keep my stick across his chest, but he pulls me close enough that I can smell his sweat, see it on his face. He’s scowling at me, but it’s not all that intimidating with the wedge of red plastic in his mouth.
The sound of skates on ice cuts through the adrenaline pulsing in my head as Zero and Kovy pull up next to us. Jaysen and I keep our eyes on each other when they get their arms between us and push us apart. Jaysen doesn’t let go of my cage until he absolutely has to, almost pulling my helmet clear off my head.
“You superstars need some privacy?” Zero asks. “’Cause it looks like some kinky-ass shit is about to go down here.”
“Or some serious maiming,” Kovy adds.
Zero looks at him and tilts his head, shrugging one shoulder. “They’re interchangeable for some people.” He turns back to us and shakes his head like he’s gotta reactivate his captaincy. He holds an authoritative hand out in front of him. “The point is. You two need to drop this ego garbage. Your draft projections mean nothing on this ice, in these jerseys. Capite?”