Page 49 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

>>Mason: Win tonight’s game and I’ll suck your cock afterward. On my knees, no questions asked. Zero strings attached. Pretend my mouth is a glory hole, for all I care, but I will absolutely fucking worship you, Jesse.

I suppressed a groan. I pushed a hand up against a locker nearby, biting down hard on my lower lip.

Fuck.

My cock was hard in an instant. All week, I’d been clear-headed and getting used to the idea that our brief fling of attraction had to end.

And nowthis?

I tapped out a reply.

>>Jesse: You daring me or are you finally begging?

“Yo,” Robbie said, coming up from behind me and immediately clapping me on the back. “Nashville’s going to be pissed tonight. And, uh, I may or may not have said some shit to their new center, so be ready to bring out the full brunt of the Plow tonight, Sanocki.Ooo-wee!”

Soon the locker room was a sea of pre-game rituals and stretches, and I put my phone away, getting lost in the rush of activity.

Less than an hour later I was on the ice, waiting for the referee to drop the puck for the opening face-off.

The crowd was peppered with a ton more TNU green and gold than red from the Nashville team, and they were already rowdy. More people had turned up for tonight’s game than any other summer league game so far. We were against the Bears from Nashville’s state school, and last time we played them in the actual season, they’d hosed us.

“Square the fuck up, Brenton,” the ref roared at the opposing center. I stayed focused on the puck, waiting for the drop. “Sticks down. Go time.”

In the background I heard the telltale chant that I’d gotten used to over the last few years: “Plow ‘em down. Plow ‘em down.”

TNU crowds loved to chant it at me, and I fucking ate that shit up on a platter. This summer crowd wasn’t all TNU regulars, but they drowned out most of Nashville’s fans, which I secretly loved.

Mason was out there watching me, too. I tried not to think about it, because nothing could be more fucking distracting than thinking about his desperate plea of a text right now. I clenchedmy jaw, thinking of it now:I will absolutely fucking worship you, Jesse.

Good Lord.

Ice.

Puck.

Laser goddamn focused.

The puck dropped and before it even hit the ice I pounced like a tiger. It flipped between us and landed behind Brenton’s skates, ricocheting a little. I had the size advantage on Brenton, and I was going to use it. I moved in behind him quickly, bent low, and snapped the puck backward, gaining control and sending it right over to Robbie in a quick shot.

I glided off in an instant, cutting my skates into the fresh, slick ice.

I watched them like a hawk. Twenty seconds in, Robbie snuck out a breakaway. He faked a shot to Nashville’s goal, got the goalie to drop, then slammed it forward.

“That’s in,” I said in a low voice, my adrenaline rising. But I watched as the puck missed by what must have been a fuckingmillimeter.

Reset.

For our summer league games, our sophomore defenseman Henry Newberg was just starting to find his legs. In the last couple of games he’d been hesitant, but tonight, he was ratcheting it up.

“We fucking win,” I said to him as I skated past. “All you need to think about.”

It was only another couple of minutes before I had the puck back to Robbie. I went wide and played patient, pulling in again only when I saw Nashville’s defense get out of position.

Robbie sent the puck my way and the world went slow. I had all of about two seconds before Nashville knew exactly what I was planning, and I couldn’t let it happen. I turned at a 90-degree angle and let the blade come down, cutting the air and sending the puck out to the end.

I watched it go straight over their goalie’s shoulder and…in.

“In!” I screamed and my teammates came down on me hard, roaring, too.

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