Makenna blushes under his gaze, and I’m tempted to smack the back of her head and yell, “Get it together girl!” But I’m sure that would be frowned upon.
“So what are you ladies up to?” Tanner puffs out of his chest, stretching the cotton of his shirt so you can see every ripped and defined edge of his abs.
I look at him like he’s the dumbest person I’ve ever encountered. “Waiting to get something to eat.” I leave the obviously off. I almost expect him to invite himself.
Instead, he says, “Oh, yeah. Well I guess I’ll be seeing you ladies around.”
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
He nods and heads off on his way—and not a moment too soon because the buzzer finally buzzes.
“That’s our table.” Makenna jumps up and rushes over to the hostess who already stands waiting with four menus.
We get seated near the front, where it’s the loudest so conversation is near impossible.
Regardless, it’s nice, and I find that I really like Makenna and Celine.
I know I need to start making more time for friends in-between all the time I spend doing homework and with Bennett.
Everyone needs a life, after all.
It’s really a shame that murdering someone is frowned upon, because right about now I want to put the blade of my skate against Tanner’s throat. The freshman is asking for it.
He slams into me from the side, sending me into the glass. It vibrates from the force of my weight hitting it.
I groan, biting down on my mouth guard. I see red and go after the fucker.
He’s light and fast on the ice, but I’ve been doing this longer and with players a lot tougher than him. I don’t know why the kid has it out for me, but I’m really fucking sick and tired of it.
“James!” Coach yells at me. “Focus! Don’t let Wallace distract you! Protect your fucking center!”
I groan again, knowing I have to follow Coach’s orders.
I skate as hard and as fast as I can to Michael, who moves furiously down the ice with his stick and the puck. Tanner tries to swipe the puck, but Toby—the left wing—blocks him. I skate up to Michael and he glances at me for only the briefest of seconds. In his eyes, though, I see the same love I have for the sport. This is his life too.
He smacks the puck into the net and the goaltender is unable to stop it.
We all hoot and holler—like as if this is a real game where the score counts.
“Let’s call it a day, gentlemen,” Coach calls from the box. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to be ready for your first game in a month.” He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “A lot of work,” he reiterates. “James, we need to talk.” He gives me a solemn look. I don’t like his tone of voice. Something tells me I’m really not going to like what he has to say. “Come see me after you shower. I’ll be in my office.”
I nod once, letting him know I understand.
The team skates off the ice and I fall in behind the last guy.
I’ve been doing good with these guys. Really fucking good. But suddenly, I fear it hasn’t been good enough.
When I get to the locker room, I shuck off my gear and shower as fast as humanly possible. I get dressed in a pair of jeans, t-shirt, with a sweatshirt thrown over top. It has the school mascot on it—a tiger.
I grab my bag and head down the hall to Coach’s office. I knock on the door once and his raspy voice calls, “Come in.”
I allow myself one deep breath before I open the door and step inside.
“Hey, Coach. What’s up?” I try to sound as chill as possible, but it’s hard. Luckily, I’m a master at keeping myself in check.
“Coach Matthews called me,” he says, referring to my coach for the Plymouth Hunters. “He said the last drug test you did for the team over the summer came back positive for steroids.”
My world falls out from under me. My fists clench at my sides. “He’s lying.” And he is. The fucker—because he can’t use me for his endeavors he’s going to try to destroy me.