by Lynn Rush
“Yo, Toe Pick!” Brodie clapped his hands. “Let’s go. Or I’ll make you play fifty-two puck pick-up.”
“Hmm, that’s funny. I don’t see a single puck down here.” I held my hands out and motioned around the basement.
“Oh…I’ll show you a puck!” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a sexy half grin.
My face was instantly on fire. As in, molten lava hot. “Um, yeah, I’m going to pass on that offer, but we better get back to it.” I crossed my legs and stood.
“How’d you do that?” Brodie asked, still on the floor.
“Do what?”
“Get up like that, without using your hands?” He tried, but he only made it a few inches off the floor before thudding back down on his butt.
“Good balance and strong quads?” I laughed and extended my hand.
Instead of trying again, he grasped my hand and rose to his feet. Only when he got up, he didn’t release my hand.
My heart started racing, and my mouth went dry. Suddenly conscious that I was half naked, I wrapped my arm around my torso and released his hand.
Brown and amber swirls stared back at me, unflinching. “You can do this, you know.” His voice was lower than normal, and it tickled across my abdomen like a feather.
“I—I know,” I whispered.
“That’s believable.” He grinned, taking a step back.
The intensity that’d been filling those dark orbs knocked me sideways for a second. At first, I thought he might be checking me out, but no, it was focus. He was driven. Competitive. Like me.
Yes. That was what I needed to focus on. Skating. Getting strong.
“Do you kids need a snack?” Gramps called from the top of the stairs, and I heard the creak of wood beneath his weight as he started making his way down the steps.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and drew in a deep breath. “That would be great, Gramps. Thanks!”
He came down the stairs with a tray of orange slices and two glasses of Kool-Aid in hand: exactly what Grams had always brought me as a kid when I was out playing street hockey. A knot formed in my stomach, and my eyes stung at the sudden memory.
“How’s it going down here?”
“Good. He’s kicking my butt.” I accepted the tray and set it on an old desk we’d brought down a few weeks ago and shoved in a corner. “This looks great, Gramps. Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brodie said, coming up alongside me, eyeing the fresh fruit. “Orange slices? I remember Nathaniel mentioning something about orange slices when you guys used to play street hockey.”
“It was my grandma’s thing.” I grinned, my heart warming at the memory.
“Why orange slices?” he asked, then bit into one.
“She always used to say they’d help keep our muscles and bones strong.” I bit into a slice of the juicy fruit. “Oh man, this brings me back.”
“I bet you were feisty at the Heron Lane hockey games.”
Gramps snagged one of the stray tennis balls from the floor and grinned as he tossed it to Brodie. “My little Snowflake is one heck of a skater.”
My jaw dropped, completely mortified that he’d used his nickname for me in front of Brodie.
“She’ll be making headlines again in no time.”
I’d told him my plans to get my spot back on the team or a new team, which included my trying out for Fall League hockey, and he’d fully supported me. The thought of leaving him someday made my chest ache, but I’d make him proud. Get back on the podium. Take home more gold.
Brodie took a swig of Kool-Aid. “She sure is talented.”
“That she is. You just make sure she’s trained up well enough so she doesn’t get injured again.”
A phantom ache shot down my Achilles, and I reached down to rub it.
“You got it, sir.”
Grandpa gave Brodie a firm look, then winked at me. He’d been a little worried that I’d get injured if I’d made the hockey team. But I was strong from skating, and Brodie was showing me how to be safe in the net, so I’d reassured Gramps that I’d be fine.
“Well, I’m going to leave you kids to it.” Gramps gave us a quick nod and then disappeared back up the stairs.
Citrus filled the air. I leaned against the desk and bit into another orange slice. Juice dribbled down my chin, so I wiped my face with the back of my hand, forgetting for a moment that Brodie was sitting next to me. My cheeks flushed as I snuck a glance his way, but he was grabbing another orange slice and looking in the opposite direction.
“Your grandpa is pretty cool.” Brodie snagged a few more slices and popped one into his mouth.
“Yeah. He’s great.”
“And your grandma?” He stood still, watching me with those brown orbs. He actually looked interested in me, my story. It was cool.
“Yeah, um…” I bit into another orange. “She died a few years back. Um…cancer.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.” He shifted his weight and glanced around.
“Are your grandparents still here?”
“No. It’s just Dad, Caleb, and me. Mom and Dad are both only children.” He snagged a rogue tennis ball from the floor beside the desk and bounced it on the ground. “Up for round two?”
I wanted to know more, but it seemed like he was done talking, and I didn’t want to push it.
“Hell yeah.” I assumed my position a few feet in front of the wall as he made his way toward the other side of the room. “Don’t hold back!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Without hesitating, Brodie whipped a ball toward my feet. Shifting my weight, I lunged to my right and managed to connect with the ball, batting it off to the side.
“There you go!” He lobbed another ball at my feet, and I blocked it with my tennis shoe and then kicked that one away.
“Ready position. Right away. Don’t hesitate.” He whipped another one at me.
Then another.
“Nice!” Brodie grinned. “There’s no way Izan would have blocked that shot.”
A smile finally returned to my face, and a jolt of positive energy shot through my body.
An hour flew by, and toward the end, I’d managed to block more shots than I missed. Of course, it was nothing like being on the ice, covered in goalie gear, but it was definitely helping my reflexes.
Brodie wiped his brow with the back of his hand and let out a long breath. He pulled the thin shirt over his head, then balled it up and dabbed at the sweat glistening along his neck. But what really caught my eye was a stray bead of sweat making its way over the distinct curves of his corded abs. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, so I could make out each and every groove of his six pack.
Our eyes locked on one another’s, and everything around us faded away.
Damn.
He is so hot.
No! My cheeks started burning. Stop it. Don’t even look at his sexy-ass body! He’s helping you, not trying to make out with you in your freaking basement!
I shook the thoughts from my head and focused on my shoes like they were the most important thing in the world right then. Actually, they might be, because if I looked at him much longer, I might self-combust.
“Want to do some strength training?” he asked.
“Oh, ah. Definitely. Start with planks?”
I hustled over to the far wall and grabbed two rolled-up yoga mats. They were pretty thin, and I usually doubled them, but one would have to do today.
Brodie accepted the dark blue mat from me and rolled it out on the ground. “So, your plan to get your spot back on a team. What exactly is it?”
I let the mat fall to the ground before I kicked it open with my toe. “Continue with my PT, cardio on even days, strength training on odd days, and spend as much time on the ice as possible.” I balanced on my forearms and positioned my feet
behind me.
“Fall League gets ice time after school four days a week,” Brodie said, copying my position.
“Please tell me the rink will be open an hour or two before school?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Seriously?”
He winked. “But remember? I can help with that.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Brodie
“It helps having your name on the building sometimes,” I said, clicking on the lights.
“I should say so.” Willow cinched her skating bag to her shoulder and turned a circle as she looked around the arena. “Lucky you.”
“Most of the time, I hate it.”
“Wait, you hate what?” Willow asked.
I cleared my throat. “That my name is on the building.”
“Why?”
“It’s just so pretentious, don’t you think?”
She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, watching me. She did that a lot lately. That morning in her basement was two days ago, but I hadn’t gotten it—or her—out of my mind since.
Her sweaty body, flying everywhere to stop my shots.
Wearing just a pair of shorts and a sports bra.
She was so hot, I thought she was going to catch me drooling.
But it wasn’t only that… She was working so hard.
Focused.
Her dedication and determination radiated off her to the point it was almost palpable. And it was pretty much the sexiest thing I could have imagined.
“I figured you’d want to flaunt the name, the money, stuff like that. I mean, we wouldn’t be here without it.”
“No offense taken.” I huffed, then hiked my own bag up over my shoulder more.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.” She smiled. “I was actually…trying to pay you a compliment.”
“A compliment, huh?”
She shrugged as she inched closer to me. “Put it this way—growing up on the rink with all the richies and being an athlete who couldn’t be there if she wasn’t sponsored…I met some real snobs.”
“I bet,” I said, hoping she didn’t put me in that category. I never wanted to be like that, neither had Mom, and she made sure Caleb and I appreciated everything we were given.
I finished flipping on the lights, letting them get warmed up to full brightness. “Come on.”
I led her through the bleachers and hopped the wall onto the bench. The single bench down the middle of it was empty except for a few hockey sticks and a bag of pucks. I’d asked Coach Kurt to leave some stuff for me, so I was glad he’d done it.
“Should I be scared?” Willow dropped her bag on the bench and picked up a hockey stick. “This one isn’t a goalie stick.”
“This one is, though.” I hoisted up the new stick I’d purchased for her.
“Oh sweet.” She reached for it, then pulled back.
“What?” I held it out to her as I stepped over the bench, so I was on the same side as her, but she’d pulled away from the stick, like she didn’t want it or something. I knew she needed it, she’d got her goalie equipment and skates from Jessa’s brother, but the stick hadn’t fit her well enough to keep using. Not if she wanted to really do this.
“Is this yours?”
“I have lots of sticks lying around.” I thrust it toward her more. “You can have it.”
“Really?” she asked, gently taking it from my hands as if I was passing her a golden skating boot.
Warmth blossomed in my chest.
I nodded, stepping away from her to unzip my bag to get my skates out. She stood there, holding the stick horizontally in her hands, looking at it. She flipped it over a few times, and her face lit up.
It wasn’t the lights above us finally warming up, either. It was happiness. And I loved how it made her face glow. She wasn’t even a hockey player, but it was like she gave her all to whatever she was focusing on.
That stick in her hand was pretty fucking hot, too.
“Are you going to stare at it all morning or actually use it?”
She chuckled, then glanced at me and held up the stick slightly. “Thanks. For this.”
“Sure.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I nodded as I sat on the bench, readying my skates to put them on.
“Why are you doing this?” She glanced at the stick in her hand again. “The training, the equipment. The…time.”
“You’re our best shot at winning the Fall League.” I let out a breath. “I need the win, and you’re the shit.”
“Oh. Yeah. To win.” She nodded and shifted her weight. “You want to win.”
“And it’ll help you with your comeback.” I jammed my foot into my skate. “Get you back to what you love.”
I had to remember that she was leaving. She. Would. Leave.
“Perfect.” She sat beside me and pulled out her borrowed hockey skates. “When will Josiah be better? Because I don’t want to be around you stinky hockey players any longer than needed.”
I playfully elbowed her. “Like us hockey jocks want to play second fiddle to a bunch of sequins and twirls anyway. “
She chuckled and shook her head. Her long black braid flipped around her shoulder and rested along her chest. Her back was straight, her shoulders wide, and she looked at me with open blue eyes. It was like she saw right through me or something.
I threw on my skates and was on the ice skating a couple laps as she finished putting on all her equipment.
I had to get out of that space, being so close to her. She would leave eventually, jump back into figure skating as soon as she was strong again. I couldn’t get too comfortable with her. Couldn’t risk that.
She was our best chance for winning the Fall League. That was my focus. That had to be my focus.
“Hey, Brodie, are you gonna skate around all morning or are we going to actually practice something?”
I skidded to a stop across from the bench I’d left her in to get suited up. She was standing in the goal, in the classic position, her shiny new stick out in front of her, and I could see the grin through her mask.
I sped to the center line where I’d set the bag of pucks, then dumped them onto the ice and scattered them around. Taking one, I dribbled it to my left, focusing on my fast feet, and then I zigged left and right. With a quick flip, I slapped that puck in her wide-open five-hole.
She kicked out to block it but missed by a mile. I curved around and went to the next puck and did the same.
“Shit,” she said.
A third time, I came in from the other side. She got a little stick on the puck, but not enough to block it.
“Shit!”
“You’re leaving your five-hole wide open, Willow!”
“Like I know what a five-hole is!”
We were going to start on some vocab ASAP. I coasted up to her and said, “See how your knees are together?” I tapped her legs and outlined that triangle opening left unguarded. “Put the heel of the stick on the ice.”
She did, watching my stick outline the little hole left unguarded.
“I’m sneaking the puck in there every time. That’s what you’re trying to stop. Guarding your five-hole. It’s huge.”
“Guarding my five-hole. Got it,” she said, nodding. “Try again.”
I snatched the pucks I’d gotten by her and brought them to my stash. “Ready?”
“Bring it!” She tapped the ice with her stick, and I couldn’t help smiling.
I brought it. Four more got through before she finally blocked one.
And then another.
Six more got through with her throwing out a few cuss words after the last two. I sped toward her, stick handling the puck left, right, then left, and slapped it by her.
“
Damn it!” She dropped her stick.
“Different from tennis balls.” I sprayed her with some ice as I stopped beside her.
“Gee, you think?” She sagged to the ground and pounded the ice.
“Let’s take a break.”
She ripped off her gloves and flopped onto her back. I ditched mine, too, and sprawled out, resting my head near hers. She turned, so I got a good view of her face. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were closed, and her chest was heaving.
“Harder than it looks, huh?” I said.
“That’d be a yes.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Sure, just like you’d get a single axel down in a few days.”
“Is that one of those fancy jumps you’ve been working on?”
“Yup.” She grinned.
“Tell you what. I’ll get you ready for the goalie position—”
“In time for tryouts in seven days?”
“Yes,” I said, fairly confident she would. She was strong, coordinated, and talented.
She opened her eyes and pinned me with a grin. “And in return, I’m going to teach you how to do a toe loop.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Willow
“How’s a Toe Loop or whatever going to help me with hockey?” Brodie quirked up his eyebrow, eyeing me with his amber-flecked brown eyes.
“It’s all about balance, core strength, and grace.” I stood and playfully pushed off him, gliding across the ice away from him, shedding my goalie gear with each stride. I felt so light and free now.
I couldn’t wait to try a jump. But first, Brodie. “By the end of my lesson, you won’t make a figure skater joke ever again. You’ll be kissing my bright-white skates.”
He stayed quiet, but he grinned as he flicked off his gloves and threw them onto the bench.
“You’re, like, the fastest guy I’ve ever seen on the ice, and you can take a check, but I can help you have even more balance out here while you’re skating circles around everyone.”
“Oh, my balance is fine. Don’t forget, I was the first junior team captain the hockey team’s ever seen.” He wasn’t wearing any other hockey pads since he was doing drills with me, so there he stood, wearing a tight black long-sleeve grippy shirt, snug in all the right places, jogging pants, and his skates. His brown, floppy hair was perfectly disheveled, framing his flawless face.