Page 35 of Drop the Mitts

She burst through the door and found an empty stall, then closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.Asshole.He’d seen how stressed she was. And yes, she’d definitely told him she was trying to get in touch with the therapist. That was one of the first things she said to him before he went all taco-dominant on her. Ugh, it was so hot, but now it felt like a slap in the face. He hada potential key to solving one of her problems, and instead he’d chosen tacos?

Grace walked back out to the sinks and washed her hands. She was going to go back out there, plaster on a smile, and enjoy her smashed avocado with spring greens and pickled onions on seeded sourdough.

Then she was going to get André’s effing address.

Chapter

Fourteen

André

André droppedonto the bench and rapped his stick on the boards. Three minutes left and they were up three to one on Pucks Deep.

“Sent one buzzing past the tower, eh?” Sean clapped him on the shoulders as their water boy for the night, Sean’s fourteen-year-old nephew, held out his bottle and gave him a squirt.

“You see Bowen nail Wheatfill?”

Sean laughed. “Hell, yes. Mashed potatoes. He’s going to be pissed.” The glee on his face was contagious. This wasn’t the tourney for the cup, but it was one of three leading up to it. This one was the only one on the Snowball’s home ice, and they wanted it. Hard. The free month of Timmies and bonus checks for the winners didn’t hurt either.

Country launched himself over the boards, and Sean exploded onto the ice. Two minutes left. The puck snapped up from Wheatfill’s stick, and Sean slapped it to the ice with hisglove, then sprinted down the boards. He dropped the puck back to Mike who sent it to Brett at centre.

This was a possession game now, and Pucks Deep knew it. Chubbs came flying, and Brett offloaded to Darcy. He sent it left to Tyler, and Wheatfill lowered his shoulder, stabbing for a touch. He got it.

Jordan exploded past centre, wrapping the puck behind the net to Chubbs, then took up residence at Boyd’s four o’clock. Before André could shout at Mike to guard the back door, he was moving, but not fast enough. The biscuit flew, but before it hit tape, Mike kicked out a skate fast enough to slice a watermelon. The puck ricocheted past the blue line where Brett picked it up, hustling his ass through the neutral zone.

The bench and the Snowball’s fans in the crowd roared their approval. Because Brett and Tyler were badass, they didn’t play soft. Brett flipped momentum, catching his outside edge like frigging Kerrigan and stretched to send the puck wide. Bowen flicked it topshelf. It nicked Matty’s shoulder pad and rolled to the ice next to the post, but before Matty could smother it, Sean swooped in, threading the defenders like dental floss and snapping the puck home. He flew forward, sending the net skidding, but the siren was already blaring.

“HOLY SHIT, Thompson!” André yelled as he, Country, and the others poured out over the boards, slamming into their guys in front of the penalty box.

Sean couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as his head wobbled with helmet rubs. They skated back to the bench, still laughing and chirping as Sean snapped them back into focus. “Just over a minute left. Get after it.”

They held Pucks Deep and won the game four to one, undefeated in the tourney. Alex Beaty brought out the handheld mic and presented the teams with first and second place medals along with their certificates. Checks would come later since theElite League would never waste paper printing two sets of checks beforehand.

The energy was palpable as they made their way through the tunnel to the locker room. Beer was already being passed around by the time André removed his helmet. He grabbed one, popped it open and chugged, then crushed the can and finished stripping. He couldn’t hear himself think with all the echoing voices, but that was just how he liked it.

André pulled out his bluetooth speaker and started “Shake That Ass,” a team favourite. Damn it, he wanted a cigarette, but Nora in administration had ripped him a new one when she got a whiff after the game two weeks ago. Plus . . . there was a part of him that hesitated. Grace didn’t like kissing smokers.

Not that it mattered. She didn’t seem too interested in kissing him at all, but something about leaving the option open made his ribs tighten.

André grabbed his towel and feigned grinding with Country on his way to the showers. He closed his eyes and let the warm water course over him, washing away the sweat and blood from the game. Somehow he must’ve split his eyebrow, based on the blood streaked on the inside of his helmet. He pressed his fingers to the area. Didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore at the moment.

André washed his hair and rinsed, then frowned as the music stopped abruptly. “Mike, did you sit on my phone again?” he shouted. No response. The locker room had gone silent. He turned off the water.

“Uh, André, you should?—”

“I can’t hear you!” He burst out of the shower stall, grabbing his towel as he stalked forward, his feet slapping on the tile. He froze as he rounded the corner.

Grace. She stood in the middle of the locker room, staring at him standing in front of her. Bare ass naked.

Country swallowed hard, his towel clutched over his crotch. “I was saying you should dry off and cover up.”

André didn’t drop his eyes. Grace’s expression was cold, but she couldn’t hide the blush rising to her cheeks. What the hell was this all about? She was annoyed, he wasn’t stupid enough to miss that, but if her plan was to come into his inner sanctum and chap his ass, he wasn’t going to make any special accommodations.

“Evening, Grace.” André lifted the towel and rubbed it over his hair, then started drying off his neck and shoulders, thinking of anything other than the fact that Grace’s hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail and that she wore another silk blouse under her blazer. The guys would never let him live down a hard-on under these circumstances, even just a semi.

“I’ve been trying to find you,” she snapped. “Do you ever go home?”

André worked to hide his surprise.She knew where he lived? Did her blouse have those tiny straps?“Not on tournament weekends.”

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