everyone else had taken places in the line for the ice; only Vlad was left and he looked a combination of pissed and worried. I imagine he was concerned for Henry and angry at me, but I wasn’t going to think about his motivations.
“Is Henry okay?” His tone was warm and encouraging, and I could imagine him whispering that in my ear as he…. Stop now. Remember the Tennant Rowe mess, remember how your stupid crush made you act like a moron.
Henry nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
“Join the line, kid.”
Then he turned to me, glanced at me from head to toe and then back to my face. “Shouldn’t a phenom like you know that you need skates on the ice?”
Ouch. I could so rise to that, but I didn’t. I was never rude to anyone, that was my label, only I could push a little bit, because the way Vlad was staring at me with his gorgeous icy blue eyes, was all kinds of hot.
“Wait?” I said and clutched at my chest. “You’re telling me I need skates to play hockey?” I was trying for funny, but maybe I came off as disrespectful. I was just being pure Tate—the smiling sunshine hockey player. But had my shine been dulled by the whole Lacey thing? Was I going to get thrown off the team? Or thumped? Or locked in the sex room for the duration of the game?
Great, I’m second guessing myself.
“Skates on, line up,” Vlad snapped at me.
I gave him a salute, laced my skates and headed to my place in the line. Warmup was the team going out before a game and skating around trying to appear cool while loosening muscles, along with as many sexy stretches as we could manage. In warmups I didn’t have a lucky place in the line as such, but I ended up with Ryker and Alex, who both gave me looks that asked all the questions about whether Henry was okay. I just nodded as subtly as I could.
We headed onto the ice, and as soon as the brisk air hit me, and my blades touched the cold stuff I was in heaven. The cheering wasn’t as loud as it had been at Dallas, but then, this was a pre-season game, and the Raptors weren’t known for full arenas at the best of times. I skated a lazy lap of our half of the ice, closing past the San Diego Suns players, who kept throwing me glances. I’d been Tate Collins, first line center for Dallas, with an A on my chest, respected, a phenom, even better than the great Tennant Rowe, yet here I was on a team that wasn’t likely to break into the top half of the league this year unless there was a miracle. Every time I caught myself in a mirror in the dark red and gold of the Raptors colors it shocked me. Seven years I’d worn green, seven freaking years, and I wondered if I’d ever get used to the colors of fall next to my skin?
We took shots on Colorado, our starting goalie, who for once appeared to be doing what he should have been doing. You know, being the kind of goalie that actually stayed in net and didn’t do random cartwheels.
I saw plenty of Colorado fans with boards, a lot for Ryker, even a whole gaggle for Vlad whose head had been photoshopped into a Top Gun poster, and two for me.
Two.
When I was used to taking up the entire freaking stadium.
I made a point of heading over to them, one a family with two kids, another two giggling girls.
Welcome to Arizona! The family sign said, and I sent a couple of pucks over the top to the kids.
It’s my birthday and all I want is a puck from Tate Collins! This sign was covered in lipstick hearts.
I sent over two pucks, and the girls blew kisses, and I smiled at them politely. Which was the exact opposite to Colorado who was now doing something weird with his stick and sending his fans into a frenzy. I wasn’t going to look.
We shuttled pucks between us, worked on some lines, the JAR line up first, Ryker, Jens, and Alex, so in sync it was poetry in motion, and then it was us up next, me, Sam, and Henry. The SHT line?
Yeah, right. I bet we only needed to wait a couple of games before someone on an opposing team made a poster with SHT and added