laughter. Colorado sniggered, leaped to his feet, and then dashed around the dressing room pretending to be an old Russian woman who played air guitar. Such a jackass. But he did seem to be able to lighten the mood. Alex and Henry walked into the madness, both the young players falling into the lunacy with ease. It was nice actually. The joking and the fun. This team had not always been so friendly. The new regime was working. Slowly. I, for one, was excited for the future.
“Okay children,” I shouted after ten or so minutes of banter and roughhousing. “Time for serious business. Today is our first team scrimmage. Coach has assigned us our team roster. You can find your team color listed as soon as I write them down. Suit up in the appropriate color and be on the ice in thirty minutes.” I waved a paper filled with Coach’s chicken scratching over my head. Striding to the white board that covered one whole wall, I then picked up a red dry erase marker and began copying down the picks. They all gathered around me. I glanced to my right as the fresh smell of citrus danced under my nose. There stood Tate, in hockey pants and socks, his chest and belly bared. He had a tight body, athletic of course, with a light smattering of hair on his chest that narrowed and then dipped into his pants. My eyes flew from that treasure trail back to my job.
Get yourself in hand, Vladislav.
I was the captain. It was my job, my responsibility, to lead the men on and off the ice. Along with other duties the C brought—such as being one of the few men on the ice to speak to and defend my team with the officials and setting the tone for the game—was being “an extra coach” in the locker room as well as on the ice. Being unable to keep my eyes to myself was a sign of weakness. I pushed the tickle of sexual tension down deep and returned to my job.
Tate glanced at me; his deep brown gaze unreadable as the men jostled us around. “I’m playing with you.”
“Yes, I know. I’m the one who wrote your name on the board.”
A long, long moment passed where we stood there, surrounded by half-naked loud men, him staring up at me as I gazed at him.
“Yo, hey, Sugar and Ice! You two think you can move so I can see where I play?” Colorado shouted, nudging Tate aside with a playful shove. The moment burst into a million bits. I pushed through the men, returning to my cubicle to dress for morning skate.
As soon as I was ready and my stick had been taped properly, I left the madness of the dressing room behind. I needed to clear my head of Tate Collins. The aroma of his shampoo was still haunting me. Thankfully, I bumped into our associate coach outside the skate room. She looked up from the tablet in her hand, a wide smile breaking out upon seeing me.
“Welcome back,” Coach Anderson said with a toss of her ponytail over her shoulder.
“It’s good to be back. May we talk about alternate captains?”
“Sure. Let’s walk and talk. Rowen is watching from the rafters during this scrimmage. He thinks he’s Clint Barton being all Hawkeye up there.” She gave me a wink and an elbow to the side. I chuckled. We thumped out to the bench area tossing our skate guards to Ross, a new equipment manager. “So, who do you want to suggest for the two alternate captains?”
“It’s a hard choice, so many of our players are so young.” I stood beside her admiring the tower of pucks piled on the boards. I’d let the men decide who would slap them down. “I’d like to see the alternates have more experience on the ice.”
“Yeah, we do have a lot of smooth-cheeked babes,” she said, then giggled. “If you’re looking for some maturity Tate Collins has been in the pros for a while and has a good reputation, the current fiasco notwithstanding.”
“But he is new here. He has not earned a letter in Tucson.” I shook my head. “Perhaps in a year or two. The JAR line is impressive, young, but I think Ryker Madsen could handle the A. He’s respectful of the officials and maintains a cool head even in heated moments.”
“Okay, anyone else?” She tapped on her iPad, then glanced up at me.
“I would like