Page 48 of Pucked Up Plans
“More for us.” I give her one last hug before heading home for the night.
After bath and stories, as I tuck Aubrey in, her face gets serious. “Mommy, I like Aunt Marsha. But I’m not so sure about those cats.”
“My girl, never change.” She flashes me a bright smile, as if she knows exactly what I mean.
And I hope that’s the truth.
CHAPTER 13
WALSH
Practices have been brutal this week. With games underway, practices usually ramp up. For some reason, they seem to be worse this year. Of course, I seem to be the only one complaining. And there’s one reason for it.
Tate Winchester.
I can’t seem to get her off my mind, no matter how else I distract myself. She’s always there.
When I’m in class.
When I’m on the ice at practice.
When it’s late at night, and I should sleep, but instead, I’m jerking off. More than when I was a teenager. Like, way more.
It doesn’t help I’ve wracked my brain for ways to get her alone. For a date. For more.
For sex specifically.
Right about now, I wish I lived on campus. Even if I had a roommate, I could ask him to leave for an hour. Can’t do that at home.
However, the bigger obstacle is how do I even get her alone? She didn’t seem too keen on us doing anything while Aubrey was sleeping. Which I’m totally on board with. Mostly. About halfconvinced I could keep it in my pants if I were to show up at her place again at night.
More like twenty-five percent. Which is a serious problem to have.
“Keeley! Your line’s up. Get your head in the game,” Coach Pagano’s voice booms, bringing me out of my head.
Right.
Hockey practice.
The rink buzzes with anticipation as our team gathers for practice. The crisp sound of skates slicing the ice echoes around the arena, the sound comforting me. Even though they’re good, I don’t let it drag up memories from years past. My focus needs to be on my teammates.
I hop the boards, taking my place as left wing. Warm-up drills kick off our training, a time to hone our stickhandling, shooting, and agility.Adrenaline surges as the familiar rhythm of puck-on-stick reverberates, bringing my mind back to the present. Passing drills bolster teamwork and a chance to fine-tune puck control. My head in the game, I execute quick and accurate passes and master dekes to outmaneuver opponents.
“Nice one, Keeley,” Moe Strickland calls out as I skirt around the defender straight to the goal, anticipating Cody McGuire’s moves before he does. Playing with a handful of these guys the last few years eliminates the guesswork. We’re always improving our skills and upping the quality of our game, but we’re also learning to read other players, to predict what they’re thinking as the next move. It’s one of my favorite parts of the game: attempting to read minds.
Practice continues in a scrimmage. Battling against opposing blueliners tests my resilience and offensive instincts. Will I be able to foresee where the puck will go? Who can I stop from blocking a shot? Where can I find the perfect position to be open to snag a pass and shoot on the goal? Today’s contestis especially grueling as our defense puts up their guard, not backing down from our attempts at scoring.
“Hibbert, get open!” Coach yells across the arena. “Keeley, other side.”
I push off, my thighs protesting every movement, working overtime with more skating than usual. When I reach the other side, I stop, searching for who has the puck. From the corner of my eye, I spy Moe bent over, stick raised in the air, pursuing an opportunity.
“Strickland!” I shout, snagging his attention.
With a slight twist of his hips, the stick connects to the puck, gliding it my way from center ice. Meeting the puck before it’s captured by a defenseman, I cradle it and power toward the goal. My breath panty, I don’t stop until I have a shot.
Hovering the stick in the air, aiming for the top left corner of the goal, I connect with the puck. A five-second countdown in my head before…goal! It hits the back of the net with a whoosh, the red lamp spinning.
The guys on my team pat my back.
