Page 15 of Drop the Mitts

The puck glided in slow-motion perfection. Dead centre.

Five to three. Game. Over.

The buzzer sounded, and the benches emptied onto the ice. They smacked backs and rapped their sticks against each other’s shin pads as they rushed Boyd.

Electricity flooded André’s veins. He turned toward Country, who was laughing as he shoved his helmet back, sweat dripping down his face.

“Shit, Maddox,” André panted. “You ate your Wheaties this morning.”

Country grinned. “Farm fresh eggs, bud. I’ll get you some.”

“Don’t announce it or you’ll trigger a tariff.” Ryan slapped his back as he glided past.

“Don’t ruin my good mood!” André called back. On the ice they didn’t have to think about real life, and he wanted to keep it that way.

As they skated off, the high started to wear off, the adrenaline settling into a low buzz. They poured into the locker room and stripped off their gear. Boyd stopped mid-change to pound on the walls, adding percussion to Country’s victory chant.

André grabbed his towel, but when someone started playing Thunderstruck over a Bluetooth speaker, he couldn’t help himself. He climbed up onto one of the benches on his way to the showers, slung his towel over his shoulder and free-balled it in an air guitar solo.

Curtis groaned from across the room, pulling his jersey over his head. “Hell, Leclerc, can we go one game without seeing your dick?”

André lunged deeper. “Don’t be jealous, Curt. Your balls will drop sooner than you think.”

Tyler laughed as he toweled off his hair. “Someone film this and send it to Grace.”

André straightened and gave his best “The David” pose. “Just wait a second. It needs to get?—”

Country snapped his ass with a towel. “Take your own boudoirs. Or hire Polk. I hear he gets great angles.”

“You would know.” André laughed as he stalked to the showers. He waited for the water to heat, then stepped in andthrew his head under the stream. Grace. He’d thought about her non-stop since the night before. He hadn’t meant to rile her up as well as he had, but everything he did seemed to rub her the wrong way.

That scratched an itch. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he’d never been interested in the girls who wanted him. He liked the chase. The challenge. And as much as Grace pushed back, she’d gotten into her car wearing his coat and hadn’t even noticed.

She might’ve been cold.

Or she might’ve liked it.

He was going with the latter. “Tyler, can I get Grace’s number?” he yelled.

“Hard pass,” Tyler called back from the locker room.

“She took something of mine. I need to get it back!”

“Hate to tell you, but you can’t ever get your virginity back, bud!” Ryan shouted.

André grinned. He soaped up and rinsed, then towelled off and strode back into the locker area to change.

Tyler slung his bag over his shoulder. “You walked with Grace to her car after the game?”

André nodded, the metal door creaking as he pulled open his locker.

“You better not have done anything Jenna’s going to find out about.” Country shoved his arms into a cotton pullover.

“Nope. Perfect gentleman.”

“That’s what worries me,” Country muttered.

André pulled on his boxer briefs. “Grace doesn’t know what she wants.”

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