Page 57 of Jaded

“Nah.” He cocks a grin in my direction, and I swear my damned heart stops right in its tracks. “I think we’ll be better.”

And he skates off, leaving me with my stupid jaw hanging open.

He’s right, though. ’Cause me and him?

We’re something else on this ice.

Nat volunteers to play defense, and I stay forward, but it doesn’t stop us from finding an instant and uncanny synergy. We zing passes back and forth. Nat finds me from the point, I drop pucks to him for one-timers. Both of us set our linemates up for goal after goal.

Even long-time teammates Syd and Avery struggle to keep up—though they’re both extremely good players. If it weren’t for the long black ponytail and small stature, I’d peg Syd for one of the guys.

And Avery, when he’s not puking over a trash can, is absolutely unreal.

Skates, hands, passes. Shots. Play read. Just . . . nasty.

“Kid’s going places.” On the bench beside me, Nat squirts water over his face. We watch Avery dangle three old dudes before popping the puck onto Syd’s tape.

“So’s Syd,” I reply as she lifts the pass neatly up over the goalie’s left shoulder, right into the net. She and Avery collide in a hug, grinning.

“Try telling her that,” sighs Nat, but we’re back out on the ice before I can respond. Out doing our thing, like we were born to skate together.

I know without looking where he is. Where he’sgonnabe. I haven’t even watched the guy play more than that brief stint at the Ice Out, but it’s like my aura’s tuned to his. Like I’ve developed some kind of Natty sixth sense, you know, like when you’re hyperaware of someone’s presence at all times, even when you can’t see them.

Dunno.

Doesn’t matter.

We’re fire on this ice.

Of course, our teammates love it, and the other team hates it.

“Taylor, go put on a dark jersey!” one of the men barks, half grinning, half irritated. “It’s not even fun playing against you guys.”

“No way, man,” says one of our teammates as he circles away from the net, celebrating his most recent one-timer courtesy of Nat Taylor. “It’s way too fun playingwiththem.”

We’re making them all look like superstars.

“Maybe you learn to skate faster, eh Jones?” Nat grins back, and the guy who told him to put on a dark jersey flashes him a playful finger. “Bennett keeps trying to pass to you, but you’re too slow.”

“Fuck yourself, Tay.”

“Tell you what.” Nat’s grin never fades. “I’ll put on dark and skate with Syd. Avery can go light with Olli.”

There’s a barrage of muttering over that, but in the end, Nat and Avery trade jerseys.

So then I’m teamed up with the Teenage Wonderboy against the Taylor father-daughter duo. And damn, is it a showdown.

It’s probably the most fun I’ve ever had on the ice.

Nat and Syd have amazing synergy; they sling passes back and forth across the ice like they’ve probably done it for years. Adorable, really.

Until Avery and I find our groove.

“You’re making me look good, Av,” I say as he pops a neat one-timer into the net. He gets the goal, I get the assist, the other team gets to groan and blame Nat and Syd, which is kinda like icing on that beautiful proverbial cake.

Avery grins at me. “This is insane, dude.”

It’s less insane when Nat and Syd retaliate with a father-daughter rebound goal that makes me and Avery look like chumps.

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