Page 46 of No Pucks

He cuts me off. “It’s not. We all do, but you disappeared from a team event…”

“Did I? I don’t feel like I disappeared.” I don’t give a single fuck. I would use their intoxication against them if it kept Anthony safe.

“Fair, I guess.” He gives me another once over. “You’re a good player. I don’t want that fucked up. My brother seems to play well with you and he likes you. I don’t want that fucked up either.” The explanation was more than I expected.

“He’s the wing?” I ask, putting the pieces together .

He nods.

“That would be my preferred spot. I like playing with you two, but I don’t think I’ll ever read your mind quite like your brother.”

“We’ve been like that since before we were born. But you can try.” He laughs, softening more. “You don’t have to. You’re faster than he is, so your reaction time will help you out.” Ridgeway clearly pays attention.

“How does he feel about me playing with you two?” I ask, because the coach’s opinion matters, but not as much as the guys who are on the ice. If they don’t accept me, nothing I do matters.

“He’s hard to get to open up, but I think he’ll like you.”

“I’m pretty good at getting people out of their shells.” I glance around at the now-empty locker room. “I need to go catch a nap.”

“Shit you don’t have class?”

I shake my head. “I got Friday off, luckily.”

“Damn, you got a good freshman schedule. I’ll catch you later on the flight.”

He heads out while I go to my cubby to get dressed. I dig around, looking for a pair of sweats so I don’t have to put on my beer-covered jeans, finding a pair finally. I step back to pull them on, finding Anthony standing nearby, watching me.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What is with all of you?”

He gives me a questioning look.

“First Ridgeway caught me coming out of the shower, and now you’re creeping on me. Why does everyone insist on sneaking up on me today?” I glance around to make sure no one is paying us much attention.

He doesn’t say anything.

I finish pulling up my sweats and hang my towel in my cubby, turning on him.

His gaze drops down to my bare chest. “Put a shirt on and come have a word with me.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No,” he says through his teeth before stomping back to his office.

I grab his shirt but hesitate. It might be a little bad to go to his office in his shirt. Arousal stirs in my stomach, though, and I pull it on. Not only does it still smell like him, which gets me half hard, but knowing he’ll probably be pissed makes me ache.

I check my cubby and bag to see if there is anything else I need to grab for the game tomorrow and then sling my bag over my shoulder.

Anthony is standing over his desk, both hands pressed into the wood, reading something.

I knock on the frame, and he looks up.

“Come in and close the door.”

I do as he asks and drop my bag on the floor before strolling up to him. “Yes?”

“Is that my shirt?” he says when he finally looks at me.

“I couldn’t find mine. Should I have come to practice shirtless?”

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