Page 25 of Zero Pucks Given
Grayson: It couldn’t hurt. Send me a few photos, just so I get the picture.
Me: Pervert.
Grayson: Prude.
I smirked at the screen. Our banter was still far from friendly, but it lacked the venom from our last few interactions. Granted, it wastough to gauge tone over text message.
I considered returning to my work, but it gave me a strange thrill to be texting the man I had just watched on TV.
Me: Good luck in the second period. Maybe you’ll score an actual goal, rather than just an assist.
Grayson: You’re watching the game? I thought you hated hockey.
Me: I have it on in the background in case they mention the contest or our date.
Grayson: Or you can’t keep your eyes off me.
Me: Don’t flatter yourself. I wish they would show your teammate more. That Mason guy. He’s cute.
Grayson: He’s practically a baby.
Me: He scores goals. They’re much sexier than assists.
Grayson: Clearly you know nothing about hockey.
Me: I know that everyone congratulated him after the goal, not you.
Grayson: Being a leader means helping my team, rather than hogging the spotlight.
Me: Spoken like someone who can’t score.
Grayson: I’ve got to go. Keep watching. I’m gonna steal the puck from number twelve and score in the first minute. And when I have a big grin afterward, I want you to know it’s because I proved you wrong.
A minute later, the commercials ended and the players returned to the ice. I put my laptop away and got a beer. I was now a lot more invested in this game than I was before, and I wanted to devote my full attention to watching Grayson fail.
One player from each team faced off in the middle of the rink, sticks held at the ready. The referee dropped the puck between them, and they scrambled for possession as the second period began.
The other team got the puck first. They passed it around while the Surge players went on the defensive, with Grayson gliding around the top of the screen. Number twelve on the other team received the puck, and Grayson pounced like he had been waiting for it. He deftly sliced his stick between the other player’s legs, stealing the puck so fast I could hardly believe it.
No way.
Before he could get far, an opposing player slammed him into the wall so hard that the crowd collectively gasped. Grayson crumpled to the ice, putting a hand on his helmet to steady himself.
Once he got up and started skating again, I smiled. Hah! Cocky asshole. I couldn’t wait to gloat about it during our date tomorrow.
Over a minute had passed in the second period, so his prediction hadn’t come true. I quickly shot off another text.
Me: I know you don’t have your phone on you, but I wanted to let you know I just watched you get absolutely smashed into the wall. You didn’t smile, but that hit put a smile on MY face! Thanks for that.
I almost felt bad gloating about it. Almost.
I reached for the remote control, but before I could mute the TV, the crowd roared with excitement. Grayson had the puck and was sprinting across the ice as fast as he could. He juked one defender,dribbled the puck two more times, then fired it at the goal with a loudSLAP.
Wincing, I didn’t need to see what happened. The scream from the home crowd told me he had scored.
“Shit!” I cursed out loud.
“That’s a goal from the captain, Grayson Steel!” the announcer exclaimed. “With an assist from Jerome Haskonen.”
