Page 11 of Of Pucking Course

I roll my eyes at Del before looking at Sam. “I think my brother just rudely offered up your place for me to move into without asking you first, but don’t worry, I won’t move in with you.”

“You could,” Sam says. “It wouldn’t be an issue at all. I have the space. I’d be happy to have you.”

“Really?”

He flashes a warm smile at me. “Absolutely.”

He sounds like he’s actually okay with it, and not like he’s reluctantly giving in to my brother’s suggestion. Moving in with Sam would honestly be so convenient. He lives just a few minutes from the school where I teach kindergarten.

“How much are you charging for rent?” I ask.

“You’re not paying me rent, Dakota.”

“Sam, come on. If you’re going to let me live with you, I need to pay you.”

He shakes his head. “I bought the place outright. I’m not going to make you pay for something I already own.”

Del pats his shoulder. “This guy is the greatest, I swear.”

“This is what friends do. Help each other out,” Sam says to me.

“Thank you. Seriously.” I smile at him despite the tiny pang of disappointment that shoots through me at hearing him say the word “friends.”

“So when should I move in?”

Chapter 5

Sam

The whistle blows. I grip my stick in my hands, ready to fire through this passing drill.

Coach Randall, one of the assistant coaches, is set up near the boards and passes me the puck. I hit it back, then pivot and take off to the right, skating around a puck that’s been left on the ice for the drill we’re running at practice.

I loop around and smack the puck again, then skate around a puck set up a half-dozen feet away. I skate in that figure-eight configuration, passing the puck back and forth between me and Coach Randall each time I skate between the pucks.

“Keep those shoulders square, McKesson,” he hollers.

I straighten up my form.

“Nice speed,” he says.

He turns and shoots the puck far to the right. I pick up my pace. He hits it to me and I take off across the ice with it, all the way to the net.

I aim my gaze at Blomdahl, who tenses up, ready for me.

I slap the puck past his right shoulder, and it lands in the back of the net.

“Great job. Way to hustle,” Coach Randall says as he skates over to me.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a breath.

“Keep your form tight on the pass and you’re golden.”

“Will do.” I push my helmet up and wipe the sweat from my brow.

“How are you liking being paired up with Connors?” he asks.

“It’s been good,” I say. “He’s got a lot of energy.”

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