Page 13 of Penalty Box
“Every time you say that it makes me think of one of my favorite songs,” she said, amusement sparking in her eyes. “You wouldn’t know it. I’ve heard the twangy heartbreak vibes coming from your Neon when you pull into the lot.”
Uncalled-for and way out of line.
“First of all, it’s not twangy. Country music is lyrical storytelling at its finest. Filled with soul and grit.”
She nodded along, patronizing me. “Uh huh, sure, yeah, whatever you say, Tennessee Whiskey.”
“One of the greatest songs ever written!” I threw my hands up, all thoughts of flirting forgotten. And somehow, this still felt like it. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. You wound me, Firestarter. You wound me deep.”
“The truth hurts, Calder. Country is mopey and annoying, and requires about a tenth of the talent real music does.”
“And by real music you mean—?”
“Ever heard of a little band called The Rolling Stones?” She stuck out her chin defiantly, too. As if she’d just made a good point.
“I should’ve known,” I shook my head in unveiled disappointment. “You’ve got classic rock written all over you.”
“I guess that means you don’t want to take me out on a date anymore, huh?” The challenge hung in the air between us, and her emerald gaze stayed glued to mine.
I opened my mouth to reply, but the call buzzer echoed down the hall. Practice time. I had about ninety seconds to get back to the ice or get benched.
“What do you say we make this interesting?” I asked, stepping back into my skate as I hobbled for the door. “Whoever gets the sound tech to play their kind of music at practice, wins. Best of seven.”
“So, our own personal playoff,” she said with an approving nod. “What do I get when I win?”
I was out in the hall already, torn between responsibility and desire. “WhenIwin, we’re going on a date.”
She called something after me, but I was already down the hall, heart pounding and adrenaline high even though I hadn’t touched the ice yet. Thankfully, she wasn’t around to see the stupid smile I couldn’t get rid of.
It was ridiculous. The way one conversation with her could light me up more than a playoff goal. My blood hummed with it. In the arena, the air felt sharper, cleaner somehow. Like I’d just come off a power play shift.
The guys were skating out, but I made a pit stop at the sound booth first. The tech wasn’t into it at first, but once I hurriedly explained the bet, he gave me a thumbs up.
By the time I hit the ice, Brooks & Dunn was blasting through the speakers. My chest filled with an exhilarating warmth at the thought of her walking out here and hearing that.
Or just… walking out here at all.
“Dynamic warmups.” Coach clapped his hands loudly and everyone fell into a practiced rhythm.
We knew the drill. Quick feet, tight pivots, one-timers off the boards. My eyes kept picking out Grayson in the thick of it. It was always the same calm, deadly precision with him. And as always, he made it look so damn easy.
I picked up the pace, skating harder than I needed to. I didn’t want to look like I was lagging behind the senior players.
“We’re not at playoffs yet, Calder,” Shawn hollered from the other end of the rink.
Hunter glided by me and tapped me with his stick. “Yeah, Calder. Quit before you pull something.”
“Just because it’s an exhibition game doesn’t mean we should take it easy,” I said, following his pace with ease.
But it was Grayson I wanted to pair with. This practice was like a final audition for the top line, and I almost had it in the bag. He didn’t say much, but I could feel him watching. Always measuring, calculating. And one word from him to Coach would seal the deal for sure.
Three drills in, I was cycling pucks with the second line. We’d just reset after a face-off when the music cut out with a sudden scratch.
“What the—?”
The arena paused for half a beat.
Then, a howl split the speakers. Wild. Sharp. Raw.
