Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,14

barely nudged the puck, moving it only a few inches.

“Nice.” Tay pulled the puck back. “Do exactly that again, but hit the puck a bit harder.”

“A bit harder,” Andy mumbled under his breath. “I can do it.”

Dakota squeezed his shoulders. “We know you can, buddy.”

Andy’s next shot made it between the goalposts. Just barely. His mouth perked into an O of surprise. “I won-ed, Daddy.” He turned to Tay. “I wanna go again.”

“Go for it.” With his stick, Tay pointed at the pucks lined in a row. “Look at all your pucks. You better get started.” While Andy was busy, Tay turned to Dakota. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Don’t judge if I fail,” Dakota warned, pointing a finger at him.

Tay mock gasped. As genuinely as he could, he said, “I make no promises.”

Dakota was shaking his head at him. In the next moment, he whipped a slap shot into the back of the net.

“Oh ho!” Tay crowed. “Look at you.”

“Yeah.” Dakota blew on his nails. “I still got it.”

“Wow, Daddy!” In his excitement, Andy hopped, unbalancing himself and landing on his butt. He was on his knees in an instant, clapping. “Again!”

Dakota skated backward, gaze over his shoulder so he didn’t hit anyone, and stopped just beyond the face-off circle. Seemed like he was giving himself a bigger challenge.

Never in his life had Tay been turned on by watching his teammates play or practice. Watching Dakota set up a shot? Knees slightly flexed, torso held straight? Drawing his stick back, his leather jacket pulling tight across the shoulders? Concentration lines furrowing his brow, pink lips set in a determined line? Tay was much more turned on than the situation warranted, but fuck. Why did Dakota have to be so damn sexy?

Dakota’s next shot joined the first. The grin that lit up his face did way more than warm Tay’s belly.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Cunningham. There are kids present.

Speaking of kids . . .

“What do you think, And—?” Dakota cut himself off when he noticed Andy making snow angels on the ice. “Yeah, that looks about right.”

Chuckling, Tay left Andy to his new game and went over to Dakota. “Told you it was like riding a bike. Looks like your high school skills didn’t fail you.”

“It could’ve gone worse,” Dakota joked. “High school was a long time ago. You’re much closer to it than I am.”

“Maybe so, but my high school years are a blur of hockey and homework.” Unable to help himself—they were on the ice, after all, one of Tay’s favorite places—he reached for one of Andy’s discarded pucks with his stick and moved several feet away from Dakota before sending it to him. “Actually, now that I think about it, that’s pretty much what it’s like now too.” Nothing much had changed except that he made more money and people had to pay to watch one of his games.

“Really?” Dakota caught the puck, stickhandling it briefly as if to test his old skills. “You’re in school right now?”

The puck came back Tay’s way. “Mm-hmm. Two years into a specialist program in paramedicine.” He’d started late; after high school, he’d been seriously done with studying for a while. “It’s a joint program between the University of Toronto and Centennial College.”

Dakota’s eyebrows flew up as the puck sailed his way again. “Paramedicine, huh? What makes it a specialist program?”

“Not sure. It’s just what U of T calls it. Maybe because it’s a four-year degree? Other colleges offer a paramedic diploma in two years.”

“Why not do one of those then?”

Because he’d never hear the end of it from his sisters.

The kid can’t cut it in a four-year degree. Especially not at U of T. Even the smartest students fail out of there and Tay’s never been strong in academics.

Actual conversation he’d accidentally overheard between his sisters during family brunch at his parents’ a couple years ago while the two of them had been washing dishes, and Mom and Dad had been relaxing with their coffees in the living room. The words had curdled in his stomach, seeping upwards into his heart until all he felt was shame and unworthiness. He still remembered how his neck had burned as he’d slunk off to the bathroom, quietly locking the door behind him, and gave himself a mental pep talk that basically amounted to Get over yourself. You’re a professional hockey player. How many people can say that?

Well.

He had not gotten over himself, but he couldn’t exactly tell Dakota that he’d