Page 2 of Puck Him Up
“Yeah?” His tone is controlled, measured, as if we’re having a quiet conversation at a coffee shop rather than on the ice. That’s the first thing I hate about him—that goddamn calm. It makes me itch to break it. To rattle him.
“Let’s make this interesting.” I skate forward, my blades carving deep into the ice, the friction beneath me pushing me into motion faster than I probably should. “One-on-one,” I challenge, the words practically dripping with the promise of a fight.
The other guys on the rink start to murmur, clearly enjoying the spectacle. They know I can’t resist pushing the limits—of the game, of myself, and now, ofhim.
I’ve got a feeling Leander’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t let the pressure get to him, but I want to see him crumble. Make him work for every damn move. He’s got all this controlled intensity,but I’m not sure if he knows how to deal with someone like me. I don’t play by the rules. I break them until there’s nothing left but chaos.
Leander doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even hesitate. His brown eyes narrow just slightly, that sharp, focused look coming into play. He’s reading me, processing my move before it’s even made. Damn it, that only makes me want to push harder.
He pulls on his helmet and skates to the center, his movements smooth, almost angelic. Every motion is fluid and efficient, with no wasted energy. It’s not the kind of speed I’m used to; it’s the kind of precision that’ll make you miss a single misstep in the blink of an eye.
I grin as I line up opposite him, my breath coming out in white puffs, the cold air biting into my skin. His stance is perfect—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, ready to explode into whatever move he has planned. He’s quiet. Too quiet. But that’s fine. I’ll make him whimper.
The puck drops in the center of the rink, and I’m off like a bullet. My speed’s my biggest weapon; no one can keep up with me when I move like this. The sound of my skates slicing through the ice is deafening, the thud of the puck against my stick drowned out by the pounding of my pulse in my ears. It’s pure, unfiltered adrenaline, and I feed off of it.
I dart left, fake right, then back again—classic Phoenix Locke. Simple. Effective. But I know Leander’s not the kind of guy who’s going to fall for it. He’s too smart for that. I feel him trailing me,staying right on my tail like he’s not even trying. I push harder, shifting my weight to catch him off guard, spinning back toward the net, but that’s when I see it.
He’s not where I thought he’d be.
Leander’s already moved to the other side, his eyes locked on me, his body anticipating every shift I make. He’s counteringme? And then, in one smooth motion, he extends his stick and sweeps the puck off my blade with a clean, clinical move that leaves me stunned for half a second.
“Damn,” I mutter under my breath. But I’m not pissed. No, it’s the opposite. I feel that rush again—thatthrill. The challenge. This guy is hiding something hungry within him. Something dangerous. But it’s the kind of danger that makes me want to lean in closer, to see how far he’ll let me push before he cracks.
I recover quickly, skating after him, trying to close the distance, but he’s fast. I feel like his shadow is chasing him down. He makes a pass to the side, and in the blink of an eye, he’s got control of the puck again, dancing around me. His eyes scan the rink like it’s only a chessboard, trying to find a way for his knight to topple my king.
I lunge at him, trying to push him into a corner, using my size and speed to trap him. But Leander isn’t scared of me, and that’s what’s throwing me off. He’s standing his ground. He doesn’t back down. Why isn’t he terrified?
I try to shove him off balance, throwing my weight into it, but he pivots, leaning into the move with a kind of grace that makes my breath catch. My weight shifts too far to the left momentarily, and that’s all it takes. In the next instant, he’s passed me, speeding down the rink with the puck like he’s been playing this game for years.
The rest of the team is shouting now, but all I can hear is the whoosh of the skates beneath us and the pounding of my heart. I push myself harder, skating after him with everything I’ve got. He’s fast, but I can catch him. Ihaveto.
I’m closing the gap, my body burning, but something’s changed. I can’t keep my eyes off him. He’s so damncalculated.Leander’s grace would make Tim Horton weep. He’s not breaking a sweat like Iam. It seems second nature to him. Like he’s always been this good, this calm, this... perfect. I don’t know if I admire it or want to rip it apart.
But there’s something in his eyes now. It’s the faintest crack in his mask, and it makes the competition that much sweeter.
I dive forward, trying to steal the puck one last time. I barely manage to hook my stick around it before he snaps it away, redirecting toward the net with a sharp, fluid move that takes me by surprise. He’s got the shot lined up perfectly, and before I can react, he’s already taken it.
The puck hits the back of the net with a soft ping, and for a moment, the whole rink feels like it’s holding its breath. Then,the guys start shouting, some in disbelief, others laughing at how clean it was.
Leander skates back to me, his expression unreadable. He stops just in front of me, and for a split second, I think maybe he will say something to gloat about his win, but he tilts his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to my stick.
“Good move,” he says, like it’s just another day at the office. But there’s something there. A challenge buried beneath his calm exterior.
He has to know exactly what he’s doing. It’s driving me crazy.
I’m breathing heavier than I should be, heart hammering in my chest. And as I stand there, staring him down, I know one thing for sure:
Leander Cameron’s going to be the hardest fucking challenge of my career. And I can’t wait to break him.
The locker room smells like sweat, leather, and desperation. It’s a stench I’ve grown to love. It’s the scent of warriors after battle, of bodies pushed beyond their limits. And as much as I should be winding down, my mind’s still on that damn one-on-one with Leander.
The rush is fading, but the thrill hasn’t worn off. My adrenaline’s like a drug, and I need a fix of something to keep the high going. I can’t stop thinking about how his eyes locked on me when hestole that puck, how calm he was when I thought I had him cornered. He wanted me to push him harder, but I just can’t prove it.
I pull off my skates, tossing them into my locker with a little more force than necessary, the scrape of the blades on metal ringing in my ears. The guys are scattered around, loud as usual. Jax is laughing with another teammate about something. I can’t focus enough to put the joke together because all of my focus is on Leander.
He’s not one to make a scene, not one to throw his weight around or draw attention to himself. He’s in his own little world, and it’s pissing me off. I can’t stand it. But at the same time, I can’t help but want to crack it open and peer at what’s underneath his exterior.
I catch a glimpse of him in the corner, peeling off his gear with that same methodical precision that’s both frustrating and fascinating. His skin is tan even from all the hours locked in a sunless rink. Leander pulls his shirt over his head, revealing toned muscle and smooth skin.
