Page 93 of Snapping the Ice
I swiveled, my gaze landing on him, his shoulders pulling his sweatshirt tight. He was powerfully built and quickly becoming a D-line star. Someday, maybe I’d get on his line.
“Yeah, Lucas is a tad excited, aren’t you?” Mason shoved me toward Archer. “Go, talk to Archer here. He’s going to mentor you.”
“Okay.” Swallowing hard, I stepped toward him. It was one thing hanging out at the gay bar, but this was on another level. What would his reaction be once I started skating?
“Come on.” Archer waved me over. “I don’t want those forwards filling your head with bullshit.” With a smirkat Mason and Jett, he slid an arm around my shoulders and led me back to the locker room.
After some full-team warmup drills, Coach Dupont paired me with Laine and we worked on blue line shuffles. I could do this shit in my sleep, but I was used to Crosby’s style. Laine was harsher, faster and stopped on a fucking dime.
We stood by the boards, pucks thrown in a line across the ice. Laine peeked at me from under his helmet’s shield, his blue gaze steely. “Keep your eyes on me, kid, for the first few rounds, and try to keep up.” He lifted the edge of his lips.
“Sure.” Normally, I’d have a chirp for a comment like that, but I wasn’t fucking around today. Hunching over, I set my stick on the ice.
He took off like a shot, blades cutting the ice, shuffling the puck with precision, and passed to me.
The puck hit my stick, and I skated around the biscuits on the ice, quickening my normal pace. With my teeth grinding on my mouthpiece, I snapped the puck back to him.
On and on we went to the end. At the far side of the rink, I stopped and panted. Fuck, this was blue line shuffles on steroids. But I’d kept up.
“Good job.” Archer skated toward us, holding his stick under his arm and clapping. “You two will be in sync in no time.”
With a playful grin at me, Laine said, “I’m impressed, kid. But then, you’re a Hopkins. You’ve got some big skates to fill.”
I glanced at my brother, taking shots at Ace. The two had been chirping at each other nonstop. “Yeah, I sure do. And I’ll fill those fucking skates.” I had a boyfriend to buy a house for.
After practice and cool down routines, Coach Dupont had given me a pep talk in his office. The team had already announced me as replacing Berg for tomorrow’s game. Coach was Archer’s dad, so he already knew Archer was taking me to lunch. The two of them formed a powerful duo. God, this team was incredible.
I met Archer at Ra Sushi, the place I’d taken Ezra to on our first date. I walked into the dark restaurant, the red lamps casting a warm glow over the dark wooden tables.
Archer sat at the sushi bar against the wall and waved at me.
With a grin spreading over my mouth and my chest warming, I strode to him and fell into the chair next to him. “Hey, man. I had a little chat with your dad. He’s cool.” I sipped water from a glass already on the table.
“Yeah, he’s the one who gave me a chance out of college.” He picked up his menu. “Anyway, let’s order and then talk strategy about tomorrow.”
“Sure.” I glanced at his drink. Was it an iced tea? Scanning over my menu, I’d keep it on the healthy side with sashimi and a few rolls that weren’t fried and full of sauce.
The server stopped by and we ordered.
Archer planted his elbow on the table, turning to face me. “So, the Falcons? Their center is a son of a bitch. He’ll try cheap shots on us. If a puck gets past you, don’t worry too much. Ace is amazing.”
“Yeah, okay.” I nodded. I’d defend Ace as best I could. It was my damn job out there.
Archer’s phone lit on the light granite bar top. “Shit, it’s my dad. I have to take this.” He held his phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad. Everything okay?”
Shit, where the hell was my phone? I patted the pockets of my joggers and sweatshirt. It was probably still in the damn car.
“Yeah, I’m with him.” Archer’s wide gaze swung to me. “No fucking way.”
“What?” Why was he looking at me like that? I glanced at the server, bringing my iced tea.
“I’ll hand him the phone. You can talk to him.” Archer held his phone to me. “It’s Coach Dupont. He’s going to brief you on some PR shit that just broke.”
“No way.” Jesus Christ. I should have known that my fucking Insta stalker, Brittany, might start some shit when she saw I was playing with the Cardinals tomorrow. I set the phone to my ear. “Hey, Coach. I’m sorry if?—”
“Who is Tate Graff?”
My heart pitched. “Uh, Tate?” Fuckin’ A. The son of a bitch just wouldn’t go away. “He’s my, um, my boyfriend’s ex.” Wait, had Archer told his father my status?
