Hooking - Kristine Allen Page 0,14

plays. Over and over until they were reflex.

“Let’s score some goals here! The name of the game is goals, guys!” Coach yelled. We’d been practicing for what seemed like ten hours. We were getting tired and starting to miss shots that we shouldn’t have. It showed that we needed to be there. Endurance was lacking for some, but we knew what to work on.

During the two months I’d been with Dad, I’d run every morning. Most mornings he joined me. Except, despite my sustained activity, my energy was flagging. Coach wasn’t going easy on us.

Finally, he called practice and we wrapped things up. First thing off was my helmet as I shook my sweat-soaked hair to cool off a bit.

McGregor skated up behind me as I headed off the ice. He flipped my hair up over my face and laughed. “Check out that flow. The bunnies are gonna love that shit.”

Shaking my head, I chuckled. “You’re just jealous ’cause you’re bald.”

“Hey, the ladies love the fuzz.” He ran a hand over his buzzed head. “They like the way it tickles the inside of their thighs.”

“Man, what the fuck ever. You keep telling yourself that,” Beck said as he shoulder-checked McGregor with a laugh.

We’d barely stepped off the ice when Coach yelled at me and Halvorson.

“Yeah?” I asked, letting the rest of the guys pass me in the hall as I waited for Coach to skate over and get off the ice. Halvorson looked irritated. Under his breath, he grumbled.

“I need you two to shower and meet me in the office.”

“Okay, what for?” I asked curiously. The season hadn’t even started yet. It was too early for me to be getting my ass chewed for anything. Halvorson and I had our differences, but we put them aside on the ice.

“The foundation representative needs to meet with you. They needed two players for a photo op, and I’m assigning the two of you,” Coach said with a sly grin. We both groaned. He had this idea that if he kept throwing us together for shit, he would make friends out of us.

“Come on, Coach, can’t someone else do it?” I hated all that photoshoot shit. Candid shots, sure—posing for the camera? No. I wasn’t a fucking model; I was a hockey player.

“Nope. Besides, the two of you are probably the biggest beauties we have.” He laughed, thinking he was hilarious. Giving him an unamused look, I sighed.

“Fuckin’ A,” grumbled Halvorson. At least we were in agreement on this one.

“Hurry up and wash your asses.” Coach got off the ice and turned down the hall.

“This is such bullshit,” Halvorson bitched.

“I agree, but I don’t feel like getting my ass chewed.” Reluctantly, I headed to the locker room. I pulled off my sweaty practice jersey and removed my pads.

“What did Coach want?” asked Beck with a towel wrapped around his waist. He must’ve taken the quickest shower known to man. He dropped to his seat and started to pull his socks on.

“Dude. How can you do that without drying your feet first?” I asked in disbelief. He simply shrugged and put the other one on.

“You in trouble already?” He chuckled as he pulled a shirt over his head.

“Nah, he’s volunteered us for the foundation,” I grumbled. Beck laughed.

“Aww, you get to be pretty and splattered on all the fundraiser shit.”

“I guess,” I said as I rolled my eyes. After stripping down, I went to shower.

Around me, water ran and voices echoed off the walls as the team bullshitted. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back under the spray. Letting the hot water loosen my overworked muscles, I tuned everyone out.

“Better get your ass in gear,” I heard Halvorson say as he passed me, obviously done with his shower. Fighting flipping him off, I shampooed my hair, conditioned it, lathered up my body, and rinsed. All within about five minutes.

Halvorson was dressed and waiting by the time I returned to my cubby to get my shit. I ignored him staring at me as I dried off and dressed. “You like what you see?” I finally said when I slipped my shoes on and turned to him.

“Fuck off, Kosinski. I’ve been waiting on you for over twenty minutes.”

I scoffed. “Whatever, man, I barely took five minutes to shower. You could’ve gone down there ahead of me. It would’ve given you more time to suck Coach’s dick.” He bowed up, and I knew he wanted to hit me but he wouldn’t. He hated my guts