No Pucks (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #1)

10. Logan

TEN

LOGAN

I know this is standard team shit before our first game, but three drinks in, and I’m still wishing I was somewhere else. My mother always told me I was born an old soul, but the idea of being in bed with a guy double my age is far more appealing than drinking with people my own. Is that because I’m drunk on the idea of him, or because there really is a connection there? Or maybe I just want to piss off my fucking father. While it would be fun to stick it to him, I think it’s more.

“Need another drink?” Savage elbows in beside me.

I turn, processing his words with a delay. “No, I’m good.” I lift my glass, showing it’s still full.

“Already three sheets to the wind. Good.” He gives me a rueful grin.

“Why is that good?” I hold my alcohol well, but my auditory processing always goes first. Not something I need for most situations. It did help make people think I’m drunker than I am.

“We need all of you good and drunk!” Savage is giddy which means something is coming.

Can’t be worse than wallowing, I guess. “Why do we need to be drunk?”

“Because we have the adoptions coming up.” Savage’s pupils are massive.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re going to ruin the surprise,” Lovelace mutters as the upperclassmen herd us subtly towards the doors.

“Listen up, newbies!” Wolfe calls out, and the team falls silent. Since he’s the team captain, he’s good at getting everyone’s attention. “Tonight we are adopting you!”

I glance at Savage, but he keeps his face schooled. There are a few murmurs, but no one out right asks what Wolfe means.

“Really? No one is going to ask?” Wolfe gives us a disappointed look. “To welcome you all to the Gods, we have a little ritual. So if you’ll all step outside.”

We’re ushered outside to find the entire intersection shut down and barricaded off. In the middle sits some sort of obstacle course, full on Ninja Warrior style.

“How the fuck did you guys manage this while we were all inside?” I ask, kind of impressed.

“His dad is the NYC police chief. We get away with a whole lotta shit we shouldn’t because of it.”

“Magic!” Lovelace wiggles his fingers and pitches his voice up.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder they wanted us drinking.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Savage stands next to me with a dreamy look to his eyes, like the whole thing is his baby.

I guess I would be impressed too. “The cops don’t do anything about this?” I knew people did this kind of thing to illegally street race—I’d grown up with it happening down 5th Ave—but they need spotters, have people distract the police, and it’s a whole thing that still gets broken up by the cops.

“They allow us to do it every year,” Savage says coyly.

I glance between Savage and the blocked off street. “Is this police sanctioned hazing?”

“Adoption ritual.” He claps a hand on my back. “We don’t haze here. That would get us kicked out of the Myth League.”

“Right, adoption. Who is taking the felony for bribing the police?”

“Like I said, Wolfe’s dad is the police chief.” Savage winks. “We don’t bribe anyone. We ask nicely.”

“I’m shocked they just let you—” I cut myself off as the words leave my lips. “Actually, I’m really not surprised by anything you get up to.”

Savage meets my eyes. “Touché. Come on. I’m your sponsored pledge brother and am betting on you. So don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t.” I don’t have a single clue what we are doing, but I’m the fastest on the ice and my balance is incredible, which will translate to something, but when I see the guys pulling out guns, I stop dead in my tracks. “What the actual fuck?”

“It’s fine. It’s just paintball.” Savage tightens his grip on my shoulder, not letting me stop.

“Just paintball? This is Velasca cashmere. I had to wait eight months to get this piece,” I mutter to keep up the act, but I’m excited about this. We are all on an NCAA D1 team. We like competition.

Savage gives me a mock exasperated look, catching my sweater. “I knew you were one of those guys, but Jesus, it’s exhausting already.”

I narrow my eyes. “What guys?”

“That quiet luxury aesthetic.” He pops a hip and sighs while flipping his hand while his voice gets high pitched. “I just know the quality and craftsmanship is different, and I don’t flaunt my wealth with designer labels. Or at least TikTok told me that’s what you’re doing.”

My mouth drops open. “I didn’t get my aesthetic from TikTok?—”

“No, you got it from hundreds of years of insufferable whiteness. You can’t help it.” Savage keeps laughing.

“I mean—you’re not wrong. I’m not happy about it, but I’ve got to give you that one. Can I blame my parents?” I grit my teeth and make a face but then laugh.

His buddy Lovelace butts in. “I’ll allow it.”

We both laugh, and he holds out his fist.

I bump it and nod. “This is a goddamn trap.”

“Damn right it is, and I’m going to enjoy ruining that sweater.”

I pull it off, leaving me in just a thin tee in the crisp air. “I’d give it to you if I thought it would fit, but Christ, man, you’re like twice as wide as I am.”

Lovelace wears muscle like people dream of. “Not a shot.”

“I bet your arms are as big as my thighs.” And I’m looking.

“Thank you for noticing.” He wiggles his brows.

“I think everyone is noticing.” Even the straight guys.

“They are, and they stare.” Savage huffs. “Everywhere we go, they do. It’s also exhausting.” He holds up a finger, not allowing me to make the comment I want. “But not as exhausting as the quiet luxury, so shut it.”

I toss the cashmere at him. “Keep my baby safe, and I mean that.”

“I can’t wear it either.” Savage isn’t as muscular as Lovelace, but he’s wide like a goalie should be.

“Fuck no. I’ll never get it back to my shape if either of you put it on.”

Savage puts his fists next to his eyes and turns them, mocking me with a, “Wah, wah, wah.”

I hold up my middle finger playfully.

“I’m going to shoot you just for that,” Lovelace shoots back.

“Don’t shoot my pledge brother! I want to win.” Savage stands in front of me like he can preemptively protect me.

“I’m not helping you, baby bro!” Lovelace chuckles as he turns, glancing over my shoulder. “I have to get you back for sucking last year as my pledge.”

Savage mutters a curse. “Not my fault. I’m a goalie and condition differently than you do!” He turns back to me. “Anything else in your pockets that’s going to weigh you down?”

I pad them, pulling out my phone and wallet to hand over. After thinking about it, I take off the Rolex my grandfather gave me for my graduation too. “I think that’s it.”

He whistles. “Nice digs.”

“Don’t get attached! They were gifts.”

“So? Still a nice gift.” He tries it on with a wink.

“From my grandfather!”

“He can afford to get you a new one.” Savage takes it off and puts it in his pocket.

“Don’t play. Your dad was in the NHL too.” I suss out the course, willing to take all the advantage possible.

“It’s still different when it’s old money. He wants to buy me Gucci and Fendi and shit, and that’s not my style at all.”

I size him up. “What are you like a XL and like six-three ish?”

Savage makes a face. “How’d you know that?”

“I look at a lot of men,” I deadpan.

He blinks, then starts laughing. “Fuck, bro. You’re right, but that’s weird.”

“Nah, you’re about my dad’s size, so I guessed. If you want me to raid his closet for you, I can hook you up with some old lux stuff he’s never worn.” I want to get him back, and he won’t miss a few things. The man loves to shop.

“No shit?”

“He’s a shopper, and my mother buys him stuff he’s not interested in. He likes to go to the parties and events, but much to her dismay, he never plays the part, so he won’t miss it.” I’m not totally sure on that, but I can only assume, since he can’t even keep what he has straight.

“And they’d be cool with you doing that?” He eyes me.

“Like we’ve talked about, I have a personal vendetta.” I keep a smile on my face, because I’m not going to let him ruin my night nor my chance of proving myself to my teammates.

“Shit. Alright. I’d love to help you out with that vendetta.” He holds out his hand, and we slap them then pull it back into a fist bump. “Now get your ass warmed up.”

I look at the dark sky and shake my head. “Fine. But those better be fucking paint balls.”

Savage grins. “You have to trust me. We are on the same team!”

“That doesn’t mean I have to trust you. That shit is earned!” I shake my arms and legs out, rolling my neck as I approach where they’ve herded the rest of the freshmen. I don’t take my eyes off the gladiator style obstacle course they’ve set up for us. They hand us beat up paint splattered helmets and safety glasses, and I strap them on and bend over to stretch. The guys on the sidelines cheer and whistle. I hold up a middle finger, jumping up and down a few times to get my muscles limber.I need to run a few laps to really get my blood going, but something tells me they don’t want us that warm or quick on the course.

“Can you believe this shit?” Raven, a promising freshman defenseman, replies in a thick French creole accent that surprises me.

I realize I’ve never spoken to him before. He does come off as the quiet, intense type. “It’s fucking creative, and better than just making us drink until we’re sick and too hung over to play this weekend.”

“It ’tis. I’m not mad. Coach will fucking kill us if he finds out.” Raven pulls off his hat, handing it to his pledge brother. “But it won’t stop me.”

“Me either.” I can only hope if Anthony does find out, he takes it out on my ass later.

“Listen up. You may have been chosen to grace the Gods, but now, you must prove yourself to be a God,” Wolfe says, standing over us on a bit of scaffolding. He’s the goalie and as close to a God on and off the ice as I’ve ever seen.

The team quiets, turning towards the guys standing at least ten feet above us.

“This is your chance to join us. An adoption, if you will,” Archangel adds. He’s a defenseman who fits his name, with blond hair and striking green eyes. “So no one better say the other word.” He grins and winks.

I want to scoff, but he’s so fucking charming. A guy like that playing for a team called the Gods is a fucking karmic joke if anything is.

“Listen closely to the rules,” Archangel goes on. “You have to make it one city block through whichever path you choose, but,” he holds up a hand before he loses our attention, “if you get hit, you have to chug a beer and start over.”

“Fuck,” a couple of guys groan.

“No wonder they wanted us all at the party,” Raven scoffs in his pretentious accent, and I can’t help but like him more because of it. “Always be suspicious of free liquor.”

“They lulled me into a false sense of security. I thought college sports was all about free liquor.”

“You thought wrong. Fraternities are all about free liquor. Sports are about excellence.” Raven puts his finger over his lips. “We should expect every activity to be a competition, no?”

“I think you’re right.”

“I’m Andre Raven,” he says after studying me a moment.

“Logan.”

“Nice to formally meet you.” He nods his head.

“And you as well.”

“Who’s going first?” Wolfe shouts.

The freshmen look at each other.

“By your jersey number, then. Let’s go.” Archangel claps.

We trade numbers, getting ourselves in line. By the virtue of bad luck, I’m second, but at least I’m not first. I get one go to see how the course is. If he fucks it up, I may be going into this blind, so I need to plot a course and a good one.

The first guy stands at the makeshift starting line, and the second he hops up on the first obstacle, he’s hit like the team is filled with sharp shooters.

The upperclassmen argue over who hit him, and then the ones who are “sure” it was them take a shot. So the more shots they hit, the harder it will be for them. I can only hope they hit him a few more times before I’m up.

They hand him a beer, and he chugs then darts back onto the course without waiting for a go ahead. The guys on the platform cheer and hurriedly lift theirpaintball guns taking aim. We cheer from the sidelines.