Page 5 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

Dec is watching the game with us from the owner’s box. He’s toward the back, so he isn’t as easily seen by the crowd. I understand not wanting to be gawked at by spectators. It’s been announced he’s injured and will miss the All-Star Game with a broken hand, but obviously how he broke it wasn’t disclosed.

Team owners Teagan Penhall and Jake Whitman are in the box. So are Daphne, the coach’s fiancée Mallory, the team captain’s girlfriend Kendall, and some other folks I was introduced to but can’t quite remember details about. It’s not crowded, but it’s not completely private either. That’s fine by me. No questions about the craziness from the past few days with Miranda and her family or feelings or anything else I want to avoid. Nigel is wandering around with Daphne’s husband, Logan, the Devil Birds’ team photographer.

“You started rehearsing today?” Ma asks as we watch the players take the ice for practice. Everyone has their helmets on, but I can pick out Trevor by the way he moves even before I see the Carter and number 24 on the back of his gray-and-blue jersey. I know he’s a wolf shifter like me, but he’s smooth and almost graceful—like a powerful jungle cat stalking his prey. If a disk of hard rubber could be considered prey. I guess it’s a good thing I’m a dancer and not a writer.

“Yeah, just the meeting with Nigel and Nancy…”

Ma makes anew face. “You got Nancy? She’s the worst. No one wants to work with her. That’s how she ended up on the shifter show.”

I don’t think Ma realizes she essentially called the US shifter edition ofCelebrity Dance Darethe dumping grounds of the CDD world. Is that how I ended up on it? I’m not good enough for the UK or Irish versions, not even the Irish shifterCelebrity Dance Dare, so I got shipped off here?

“Yes,” I say, “but she went back to New York, and we have Nigel as our cameraperson. He’s lovely.”

Ma nods. “Nigel is lovely. One of the best camerapeople in the whole franchise. I guess he’s making up for Nancy.”

That’s like saying a cupcake can make up for the bubonic plague, but sure.

“What’s your first dance? Oh, thanks.” Ma accepts the drink Dad hands her as he sits next to her.

I guess I can die of thirst. There’s a bar at the back of the box so I’ll grab something myself, but it would’ve been nice to have been thought of. Whatever. I’m used to it.

“Cha-cha. He’s used to counts and choreo but for cheerleading. I don’t know if he can be fluid with choreography. But he can certainly dance. I just don’t know if he can move with that freedom while following steps.” I cock my head, hoping I’m making sense. “Do you know what I mean?”

Ma nods. “Absolutely. That happens a lot. Sometimes it’s the folks that don’t have a dance background at all that do the best. They’re a blank slate, so we don’t have to retrain them or undo what they’re used to. Does he want to do the show?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. It was sprung on him. You know it’s a promo for the team and the league. But he’s being a good sport about it, and I think he’s going to try his best. Can’t ask for more than that.”

Dad leans forward. “How are you going to balance practice and hockey? Are you traveling with the team?”

“I am. We have a practice space at Devil’s Den. He has a dance studio in the barn they all live in. We’ll work it out. We only need to be in New York one day each week for the live shows, and the way the schedule is, there aren’t games on live show days, but who knows if there will be any press commitments that screw things up. If he has to miss a lot of games, he’s going to resist.”

“Well, he’ll just have to deal with it,” Dad says. “My little girl wants to win the Platinum Paw.”

He reaches across Ma’s lap to pat my hand. I have to swallow a couple of times to work the lump back down my throat. I know Dad loves me, but it’s been forever since he’s called me his little girl. I was always grumpy that Miranda was included in everything when we were girls, but considering how screwed up her childhood was, I’m so grateful we were loved and protected by my parents. Dad always made sure we were safe. Of course, as a child, I didn’t have the maturity to see how valuable that was. Okay, I didn’t have the maturity four days ago either, but I’m growing up.

The Devil Birds are playing some Sasquatch team from out west. Their mascot is a big hairy thing. Honestly, I’m not sure it’s someone in a costume. It may just be a Bigfoot shifter fan. I’m surprised they make jerseys and jeans that big. I think the sassy seagull the Devil Birds use is cuter. Cute may not be the right word. Like all seagulls, Shifty the Seagull, also known as Shitty, has an asshole attitude. If I saw him outside with a cigarette, I wouldn’t be surprised. His beak has a slight hook to it, like it’s been punched a time or two. But it’s someone in a seagull costume, not a real seagull shifter.

It’s not the spectators or mascots that are capturing my attention though—it’s Trevor. His helmet covers his deep brown hair with chestnut tones. The face shield probably does nothing to hide the intense focus he gets in his hazel eyes when he’s in the zone. I saw it briefly when we were dancing earlier today. I appreciate the focus, but unlike hockey, you can’t show how hard you’re thinking when you’re dancing.

The game starts, and it’s exhilarating to watch him. He fights for the puck in the opening face-off with a steely determination I can’t help but admire. He goes after what he wants. I just hope winningCelebrity Dance Dareis something he wants enough. He’s agile and fearless. Trevor’s not the biggest man on the ice or even the biggest man on his team, but my eyes are drawn to him every time he’s out there. If he can bring that kind of magnetism to the dance floor, we’ll be hard to beat.

He’s graceful, too, the way he weaves in and out of the paths of the opposing players, trying to take the puck away from him. The way he glides across the ice is almost balletic. You can see how hard some of the other players work to propel themselves along the ice—when they have to change direction, it’s like turning a barge. Trevor zips along and covers the ice as effortlessly as water running downhill. He flows. How he controls not only his body but a however-many-meters-long stick and the puck is beautiful to watch. I need to figure out a way to work hockey into one of our dances.

No matter how hard he works, he can’t get the puck in the net though. It’s like he’s out of sync with one of his linemates. I wonder if he’s Dec’s replacement? I know what it’s like to have to adjust choreography to dance with a new partner and adapt to their hand not being where you’re used to finding it and tweaking the timing. Eventually, you get it, but until you do, it’s frustrating. That’s what seems to be going on here. Multiple times Trevor passes the puck to his winger—I had to look that word up—and the player is a step or two too far back; he can’t reach the puck with his stick. It looks like he’s shorter than Dec and they aren’t accounting for how Dec’s giant strides affect the timing. If Trevor holds the puck for another second or two before passing, the other player will be in position. I can see Trevor’s annoyance in the set of his shoulders, even underneath the pads he wears as he leaves the ice after the scoreless first period.

“Watch Shifty,” Mallory says from the seat next to me, nudging me with her elbow. Miranda left before the period ended to go to the locker room. As assistant to the team’s coach, I guess Miranda’s job calls for her to be with him in the locker room during intermission to take notes or whatever. Dec is on his phone sending texts.

I nod and find the mascot in the aisle by the seats below our box. He bends forward, aiming his backside at the crowd. Suddenly, there’s a pop, and a shower of white shoots out. There’s an excited shout and a teenage girl holds up a T-shirt.

“Good lord! Did he just shoot that out of his arse?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I clearly do because Teagan laughs.

“Yeah, his costume has an ASS Cannon built in,” Teagan says with pride. She stands at the front of the box, near our seats. “Air Supplied Souvenir Cannon. It’s a specially designed T-shirt cannon built into the costume. First of its kind.”

I shake my head. “It’s glorious.”

The white glitter confetti is supposed to be like seagull shit. The way it gets all over the place is true to life. It’s incredible.

Shifty steals a few fries from a Sasquatch fan and moves on. Yep, true to life.

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