Dean’s cheeks go redder than apples every time O’Shea opens his mouth. According to Logan, the man used to be the head coach at Dean’s prep school. They obviously have a past, but whatever it is, Dean’s not sharing. But he’s not happy, either. Not only are the d-men constantly ordered to stay late, but apparently Dean got forced into coaching the kiddie team at the elementary school in town.
I skate to the bench after my shift and heave myself over the wall, then squirt some water in my mouth and watch Garrett’s line fly across the blue line. Today’s scrimmage is non-scoring so far. Seriously, that’s how bad we suck. We can’t even score on each other during practice, and it’s not because our goalies are in top form—none of the forwards can get their shit together, myself included.
A whistle blows. Coach starts screaming at one of our junior d-men for icing the puck.
“What the hell was that, Kelvin! You had four passing opportunities and you decide to ice the fucking thing!” Coach looks ready to pull his hair out.
I don’t blame him.
“I could’ve made that pass if I was out there,” Dean grumbles beside me.
I glance over in sympathy. One of O’Shea’s first orders of business had been to rearrange the lines. He’d paired Dean up with Brodowski, and Logan with Kelvin, when we all know that Logan and Dean are unstoppable together.
“I’m sure O’Shea will realize his mistake soon.”
“Yeah right. This is punishment. The motherfucker hates me.”
My curiosity is once again piqued. “Why’s that again?”
Dean’s expression goes cloudier. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Not sure if you know this,” I say pleasantly, “but secrets kill friendships.”
That makes him snicker. “You really want to talk to me about secrets? Where the fuck were you all weekend?”
I instantly shutter my expression. I’m cool confiding in my friends about my love life, but I don’t want to discuss Sabrina with Dean, especially when I know his opinion of her. Besides, what the fuck is there to talk about, anyway? She shot me down. I asked her out and she flat-out told me no, it was never gonna happen.
If I thought there was even the slightest chance that she wanted me to chase after her, maybe I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Maybe I would’ve shown up after her classes a few more times, bought her a couple more sandwiches, wooed her with my charm and worked the southern accent whenever I felt her drawing away.
But I saw the look in her eyes. She meant what she said—she doesn’t want to see me again. And although I have no problem being the pursuer, I’m not going to chase after someone who’s not interested.
Still, it fucking sucks balls. When we were sitting on that bench the other day, I wanted nothing more than to pull her onto my lap and fuck her right there, and to hell with anyone walking by. The Dean himself could’ve been standing there tapping his watch and I still wouldn’t have stopped. It had taken all my willpower to suppress the primal urges, but man, something about that girl…
It’s not just her beauty, though that doesn’t hurt at all. It’s…it’s…damn, I can’t even put it into words. She’s got this hard exterior, but inside she’s as soft as butter. I see flashes of vulnerability in her bottomless dark eyes and I just want to…take care of her.
The guys would laugh if they knew what I was thinking right now. Or hell, maybe they wouldn’t. They already rag me daily at home about my “nurturing” side. I’m our resident cook, do most of the cleaning, make sure shit around the house is in working order.
That’s how my mom raised me, though. I didn’t have a dad. He died when I was three and I barely remember him. But Mom more than made up for him not being there, and the father figure I was lacking came in the form of my hockey coaches.
Texas is a football state. I probably would’ve gone that route if it weren’t for a vacation we took to Wisconsin when I was five. Once a year, Mom and I would visit my dad’s sister in Green Bay. Or at least we tried to. Sometimes money wouldn’t allow it, but we did our best.
During that visit, Aunt Nancy bundled me up and took me skating. It’s goddamn cold in Green Bay—I imagine that’s most people’s worst nightmare, but I loved the chill on my cheeks, the frigid air hissing past my ears as I skated on that outdoor pond. A few older kids had a game of hockey going, and I got a thrill watching them whiz across the pond. It looked like so much fun. When Mom and I got back to Texas the following week, I announced that I wanted to play hockey. She’d laughed indulgently, but humored me, finding a year-round rink an hour from home.