Page 18 of Offside and Off-Limits
“Come on, man. I look like I'm having a seizure,” Weston complains.
“Nah, you're doing great, Smith!” Asher says, not missing a beat. “It's all in the hips. It’s just like you're trying to dodge a check, but make it sexy, eh?”
I snort laugh and am glad the guys are too engrossed in their dance routine to notice.
“Make it sexy? Dude, I'm wearing thirty pounds of protective gear and sweating like I just did suicide drills,” Cade complains.
“No one wants to hear about your sweat, Lennox,” Weston says, and he receives a shove from Cade.
“Yeah, sweat isn’t sexy,” Asher says before he transitions into the next move. “This is the move that gets all the likes. Just watch, okay?”
There really is something so endearing about watching some of the NHL’s top players trying to nail a dance move that’s probably meant for lithe teenagers with very different builds than these guys.
Cade and Weston copy Asher, looking about as comfortableas a couple of cats in a room of cucumbers. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I can’t help but zoom in on Cade. His usual easy confidence is replaced by a look of intense focus, his brows pulled together in concentration. His dark blond hair is curling under his helmet, and when he flicks his eyes in my direction, I quickly zoom my phone back out.
Professional distance. That’s what I need here.
“Lennox, you're thinking too much. Less hockey brain, more boy band,” Asher scolds.
“Moreboy band?” Cade asks with a note of distaste. “I don’t even have a single boy band neuron, let alone a whole brain.”
“Asher’s right. Channel your best Justin Timberlake,” Weston says. “Like me.” He busts out a move that’s really not bad.
“With those looks you’ve got total boy band potential,” Asher says, clapping Cade on the back.
Cade shakes his head, grinning before his eyes flash to mine once more, sending an unexpected flutter through my chest.
Weston attempts the hip shake again and nearly topples over, saved only by Cade's quick reflexes as he grabs his teammate's elbow.
“Give me a brutal game against the Nebraska Knights over this any day of the week,” Weston grumbles.
“I'm starting to think you suggested this just to watch us make fools of ourselves,” Cade calls out to me.
“You volunteered, remember?” I shoot back, willing that weird flutter to die. “And besides, Coach Hauser told me the winner gets out of something called ‘bag skate’ tomorrow.”
Both Weston and Cade straighten up.
“You didn't mention this is a competition,” Asher says.
“There’s no way I want a bag skate,” Cade adds, resuming the position Asher put him in a moment ago. “Let’s do this. Bring on the boy band brain!”
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh. “This is gold, guys. The fans are going to love seeing this side of you.”
“You’re filming this?” Cade asks in surprise.
“Of course I am,” I reply. “It’s my job.”
“I thought you were only filming the dance, not us bickering like a pack of old women,” he replies, and then thinks better of it. “Not that old women do bicker.”
This time I can’t stop the laughter from bursting free.
“You’re such an idiot,” Weston says, clocking Cade on his helmeted head with his gloved hand.
Cade shrugs. “I’m just trying to be PC.”
“Line up, guys. Let’s give the full dance a shot,” Asher instructs.
They line up facing me, and as I start the song over they begin by shrugging one shoulder, then the other, then swaying from side to side, and when Rosé’s voice sounds out, they break into three and begin to follow the moves Asher taught them. It’s all going perfectly until Cade moves to the left instead of the right and bangs right into Weston.
