Page 47 of Wanting the Winger

“Okay, fellas, move the nets,” Coach calls out. We’ve been working with half of the rink, but now he wants to cut it down so we’re between the two blue lines with a net centered on each one. That means my reaction speed has to be that much quicker and my movements more precise than if I had more ice to cover.

Kaiden and I push a net to one of the blue lines while Ryder and Murphy take care of the other one.

This is supposed to be a ten minute 3-on-3 battle. If the puck passes either blue line, a new puck will be put in play and our coach will add another forty-five seconds to the time. This is a drill that's utilized by a lot of NHL teams, not just ours. But Coach insists we do this at the end of most practices because the majority of goals are scored close to the net. Not only is this beneficial to puck handlers, but it’s great for keeping our goalie’s skills sharp.

Ames is in one net and Murphy’s in the other. With five minutes left to go on the ten minutes of continuous play, my thighs are on fire. So much for feeling great. Maybe Evie will massage them for me later.

When our coach finally blows his whistle signaling the end, I bend over and glide with my stick across my knees. When I straighten back up, I feel weak.

Ryder lays down on his back in the middle of the chopped up ice to make a snow angel. It’s a hilarious sight to see a six foot two man who weighs around two hundred ten pounds waving his arms and legs on the ice. And when he gets up, his efforts have paid off in the form of one very clear snow angel.

Internally I’m groaning all the way to the locker room. I learned early on if Coach Carling hears you complain he’ll make you pay for it later.

I drop my helmet on the floor and fall backward onto the bench. Leaning against the wall, I grab my bottle, guzzling the remaining cold water down. Glancing around the room, I see my teammates in similar positions and I laugh.

“What’s funny?” Ryder asks.

“We all look like shit.”

“We all feel like shit too,” Kaiden adds, and I laugh.

“Why are you so goddamn giddy today?” Murphy asks.

“No particular reason.”

“I call bullshit,” Ryder shouts. “You’re never like this after we do 3-on-3’s.”

“Like what? Exhausted?” I say.

“No, this smiley,” he says. “What, did you get laid last night?” He smirks.

“No. I wish,” I say, answering a little too quickly.

Ryder’s dark eyebrows jump and his eyes light up with interest. “Did you see that? He’s lying.”

“What? Me lie? No.” Okay, I suck at outwardly lying. Evading I’m okay at. Which reminds me, I still need to speak to Evie about the whole being a professional hockey player thing. When I tried to mention it last night she stopped me.

“Dude.” Murphy shakes his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Fuck,” I shout. I drag my practice jersey over my head, dropping it on the bench.

“Who’s the chick?” Ryder asks.

“She’s not a chick. She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman. And why would I tell you her name?”

“She’s not a puck bunny?” Murphy asks.

I aim a pointed stare his way. “You guys should know that without needing to ask me.”

“Well, lads, puck bunny pussy isn’t good enough for Mr. Choosy. Well, la tee da.” Ryder holds his pinky out like he’s drinking high tea.

“It’s not good enough for me either,” Kaiden says, bumping my fist.

“That’s just because you’ve been around so long, you’ve screwed them all already, Cap,” Murphy quips.

“Maybe he has standards, unlike you guys,” I say.

Murphy points to himself. “I have standards. At least more than this guy.” He hooks his thumb toward Ryder. “Tell them about the toilet paper incident.”

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