Hooking - Kristine Allen Page 0,83
one wasn’t much better. I’d not only gotten minor penalties, I’d been in the penalty box twice. Coach was pissed as fuck at me.
We still won, but it was a rough game.
My head wasn’t in the game because it was full of her. The problem was, I didn’t know how to get her out of it. That had never happened to me before. I was the guy that broke shit off. No, that was a lie, because I didn’t catch feelings for any chick.
It had taken everything I had not to stare at her. I’d seen her sitting in my seat. She’d been alone, the seat next to her empty. It was the worst kind of torture to ignore her, but I kept telling myself I was doing what was right for her. Then I’d dragged ass after the game in case she was out there. Maybe that was big-headed of me, but I wasn’t willing to gamble on the fact that I could be wrong.
The days dragged by in a blur. I worked out like a fiend, skated my ass off in practice, and dropped into bed exhausted every night.
We were in November and we were getting down to the wire. Things were getting serious. We always hoped and tried to be sitting in a good position by Thanksgiving. That was eleven games away.
“Oof!” I grunted as I was checked into the boards by Seattle defenseman Griffin. It wasn’t a bad play, but fuck, I’d been getting beaten up during that game. I’d been able to concentrate easier without Sydney there, but I’d be a liar if I said I was happy about it.
Though we tried to ignore a lot of what went on in the stands, some chicks held up a sign offering to have a threesome, and of course no one would let it lie. The guys gave me a lot of shit for that as we sat on the bench dripping sweat.
“Like none of you guys have ever had someone offer that,” I scoffed as we laughed, though my heart wasn’t really in it.
I forced myself to compartmentalize and focus as we switched lines.
We were already ahead by two points in the third period, but you could never win by too much. So when I had the opportunity, I took it. Halvorson, McGregor, and I hauled ass to the net as we passed the puck back and forth across the ice. McGregor faked the shot, then passed to me, and I sent it into the net with a wickedly powerful wrist shot.
The buzzer sounded within seconds of my shot. We were all grinning as I skated with my stick held aloft, and the guys slammed into me, shouting.
“Damn, Kosinski! I think I might have seen a little steam on the ice from that shot,” Kalashnik said with a grin.
That home game on Saturday was what we needed. It was a nearly flawless game. But none of us were so cocky that we wouldn’t acknowledge it was a group effort.
“Good game, fuckers!” Beck shouted through the shower room. There was a chorus of shouts in agreement, whistles, and yelling. We were riding pretty high after that win.
“Hey, Kosinski!” McGregor said as he dressed. “How about we chill in your hot tub tonight?”
“What, no bitches for you tonight?” I teased as I pulled a clean shirt over my head.
“Nah, I’m fucking beat. I just wanna chill. Maybe have a beer or two, then crash.”
“Ah, the truth comes out. You just want to drink my beer.” I grinned as I slipped my shoes on and tied them.
“That, and I’m having Alex withdrawals,” he said with a lewd wiggle of his tongue and a wink. It was impossible not to laugh.
“You just shared a room together last night,” said Beck with a laugh. “He didn’t wear you out then?”
McGregor stopped dead in his tracks and deadpanned Beck. “Dude. You know I wear him out.”
“Christ,” I said as I shook my head. I shouldered my bag and told him, “If you’re coming, that’s fine. But I’m not gonna be up late. I have a quick stop to make, but I’ll be there.”
“Oooo, Kosinski’s gotta get a drive-by piece of ass?” Baranov hooted, and I flipped him off.
“Hell, no. If I’m getting a piece of ass, it’s lasting all fucking night.” I gave a half-hearted laugh as the guys groaned. Several of us walked out together.
After I tossed my shit in the back, I waved to them. “See you in a few,