Page 90 of The Puckable Playbook

He launches into his pregame speech, which always varies by opponent. He’s fantastic at getting the juices flowing, pacing in front of us, clenching his fists, using his words like a battle cry.

Eventually, he ends with, “One, two, three!”

And we all scream, “‘Dogs!”

My skin buzzes, electricity coursing through me while I walk through the tunnel. I smile when my right blade hits the ice. Crazy to think that the last time I was here was with Len.

I find my family in the stands. Once again, Len is all in with them, ringing the cowbell and jumping up and down. My heart leaps in my chest.

“James!” Coach yells as I skate to the opposite end of the rink, but I only have one thing on my mind.

My family gave her a shirt withgirlfriendon it, but I can do better.

My teammates catcall.

Lenore sees me coming and tilts her head. I point at her, then down at the area where I can meet her. Izzy pushes her forward, and she starts walking, my parents hugging her as she passes them. She gets down to the ice level, and I skate next to the wall while she walks the perimeter until we meet where the Zamboni comes in.

She faces me. “Shouldn’t you be with your team?”

Behind me, I can still hear them calling out incoherently. Everyone knows what this is. “I got something for you.”

“What? You don’t like my shirt?”

I grab her shirt and pull her forward, sealing my lips to hers. My team goes crazy, and she starts laughing so hard I have to end the kiss far sooner than I wanted.

I hold my blue jersey out to her. “Since you come from hockey royalty, I don’t need to explain to you what this means.”

“You like me?” she asks coyly.

“Understatement. You put this on, you’re telling the whole world—or a couple hundred people,” I say, peering around at the audience, “that you’re mine.”

I hold it out to her, heart thumping, suddenly so nervous my hands shake.

She takes it from me. “You know, I never really understood the jersey thing, but now that I’m standing on this side, I get it.” She pulls it over her head, and behind us, the crowd applauds. In my ears, it’s an eruption.

“You want to be mine?”

“I’m already yours, Isaiah James. I was from the moment I saw you outside my window.”

I swallow. “We have some time to make up.”

“We do.”

Taking her chin, I guide her toward me, kissing her again. This time, a short, sweet brush of lips. I don’t trust myself not to dive in and embarrass us both.

I tug the jersey as I skate backward. Seeing my number across her chest makes my stomach flip. “Looks good on you, Len.”

Eventually, I run into a thick wall of muscle as my teammates celebrate behind me, patting my helmet, my shoulders, knocking sticks with mine.

I blow her a kiss, and Adam calls out, “Let’s take this game for Z!”

“For Z!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Len

My stomach squeezesas I wait for Zaiah and his teammates at Richie’s. The restaurant had a facelift when I was a freshman, so now it looks like a nostalgic diner from the 50s. Bright red-and-white striped booths and a black-and-white checkered floor are highlighted by neon everywhere. A throwback to a period when the owners weren’t even alive.

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