Page 348 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
“Hmm…I think I can handle it.”
Bending down, he picks up my forgotten stick and hands it over.
“I’ll be back. Tighten up your shot, though. Really focus on where you want it to land. You were a little sloppy,” he says as he skates backward toward the gate.
“What? There’s nothing sloppy about my shots,” I cry incredulously.
The most incredible smile appears on his face before he steps off the ice.
“You’re perfect, Casey. And that ass in those leggings...” I laugh as he lifts his fist to his mouth and bites down before jogging away.
The second he’s out of sight, I find the puck and do exactly what he just said.
I’ve played against numerous members of the team over the years, but suddenly, I feel the pressure.
I want to impress Kodie. Prove to him that I’m a worthy coachto his daughter. It’s been years since I played properly, and I have no doubt that I’m a little rusty.
Doing as he said, I set up shot after shot, trying to hit my mark every time.
It works. By the time he emerges in his Vipers training gear, I’m feeling all kinds of confident to take him on.
Plus, I like to think I have the upper hand compared to his usual teammates.
I know how to play really dirty.
“I hope you’re ready for this, Watson,” he warns, his game face in place.
“I was born ready, Rivers,” I taunt back as we meet at center ice.
I stare up at him with my heart pounding and excitement fluttering in my stomach.
This is exactly what I need today.
Of course, the sadness is still there, but it isn’t all-consuming in the way it was earlier.
Kodie makes everything better.
Holding the puck out between us, I continue to hold his eyes.
The air crackles with chemistry and competition, and just when I think he’s too distracted by me, I drop the puck.
“Loser,” I shout over my shoulder as I take off, my stick handling almost perfect. Or at least, it is until the second I’m aware of him chasing after me.
Fuck, this is actually quite scary.
As quick as the wind, he shoots around in front of me, stealing the puck almost before I’ve even noticed.
“Asshole,” I cry.
“Never play a player, Watson. I thought you already knew that.”
I give chase, putting my all into catching up with him. But it’s hopeless; he’s too strong and fast for me.
Even during my best years, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Thankfully, he tones it down a little after his first goal, and we play a much moreeven match.
He even allows me to score a few points, which is nice of him, considering it really should be a whitewash.
