On Thin Ice, Part One (Second Chance Puckboys #1)

Chapter 1

Jacob

“Please, Jakey. Please.”

I don’t even bother glancing up from my notes, which I’ve been working on meticulously for the last hour. Lauren is… well, being herself.

And look, that’s not a judgment on the girl, truly, I don’t mind her most of the time. She’s tolerable, occasionally even entertaining.

But right now?

Right now, she’s irritating the absolute fuck out of me.

Especially with that name.

Jakey.

God, I hate when she calls me that. It’s cutesy and condescending, like she thinks throwing a little whine on my name will suddenly make me become her best fucking friend. All it does is make my skin crawl and my jaw clench.

“I said no, Lauren.” My voice is maybe a little too sharp, but I’m not about to apologize for it. I sigh through my nose after repeating myself because apparently, she didn’t hear me the first time. Or the second…or the third.

She huffs like the spoiled brat she is and plops her ass down on the table, where all my shit is spread out. Which means I now have no choice but to look at her.

Goddamn it.

Lauren is… fine, I’ll admit it, really pretty.

She’s blonde, with that messy-on-purpose hair that probably takes forever to get it that “effortless.” She has big blue eyes, full pouty lips, and a body that definitely gets her noticed.

She’s tall and lean with legs for days. Honestly, she could be that sexy girl next door in a movie.

But she’s also vapid and self-centered, which cancels out most of the appeal. She’s not outright cruel or anything, but she definitely thinks the world revolves around her.

Everyone knows it, and she knows everyone knows it.

“Please, Jake,” she whines, batting her lashes like I’m some idiot who’s going to fold at the sight of a pouty lip. She’s probably really fucking used to men bowing down at her pretty little feet. “I cannot spend the entire year with the golf team!”

That’s when I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. I mean, yeah, golf isn’t the most thrilling team to be a trainer for. I’m not denying that.

But still, it’s not like they’re a bad team. She’s lucky Professor Gonzalez gave her any team after she practically fucked her way through the basketball players last year.

Not that it’s my business but, y’know, I can understand why she is being placed with fucking golf.

“I can’t switch with you,” I say in the kindest but firmest tone possible, because apparently Lauren doesn’t understand boundaries unless you hammer them into her skull.

“I got my second choice in team assignments. I’m not giving that up for golf.

Baseball was second on my list, and honestly, I’m lucky I even got it. ”

She pouts dramatically, sticking out her lower lip like that’s going to change my mind. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work the first time and it won’t work the hundredth. I just stare at her until she blinks and switches tactics.

“What was your first choice, then?” she asks, tilting her head and trying to sound sweet. “Maybe we can do a three-way.”

Her tone makes it clear she’s not just talking about teams anymore, and I barely manage to stop myself from gagging. A three-some with Lauren?

Fuck no. That sounds like my actual version of hell. It wouldn’t matter if the third in that scenario was fucking Jonathan Bailey.

Well okay…it might sway me. A little.

“I was assigned to baseball, Laur,” I say again, ignoring the insinuation entirely, and attempting to sound professional. “And I’m staying with baseball.”

Her lips purse in a way that says she’s annoyed, but at least she knows she’s not getting anywhere with me. Well…I hope.

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, finally hopping off the table with a dramatic flip of her hair.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” I reply dryly, already turning my focus back to my notes. With any luck, she’ll get bored and wander off.

Preferably far, far away.

Before she can respond, a second body approaches the table. For a second, I brace myself for more irritation, but relief floods through me when I see who it is. My step-brother and best friend, Hughie, drops into the chair across from me with his signature resting bitch face firmly in place.

“Hey, Hugh,” Lauren breathes, immediately switching gears to her flirt mode as she bats her lashes.

Jesus Christ, this girl is relentless. I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my skull.

Hughie doesn’t even glance at her. He just grunts, the most non-committal noise I’ve ever heard, and turns straight to me. “Did you get your assignment today?”

I nod. “Baseball.”

Lauren pipes up before I can say more, “I got golf.”

She pouts dramatically, like that’s the most tragic thing anyone’s ever experienced. I can’t help it, I laugh.

Hughie, however, does something so much better. He slowly drags his gaze to her, his face perfectly blank except for the faintest hint of disdain. And when Hughie looks annoyed? You feel it in your soul.

He doesn’t even try to hide it when he says, “Aren’t you fucking Thomas? He’s the golf captain, right?”

Lauren’s face flushes red, probably with embarrassment, but maybe anger. It’s hard to tell with her. She pouts harder, which I didn’t think was possible.

“I was seeing him, but... ya know, that ended,” she says, twirling her hair like she couldn’t care less. Then she gives me a pointed look. “I was trying to get Jakey to trade with me.”

Hughie snorts, a sharp, incredulous sound that almost makes me lose it. There’s something about Hughie’s ability to shut people down that I find endlessly satisfying.

“Figures,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Then he jerks his chin at me and says, very pointedly, “Jacob’s too smart for that shit. Try someone else.”

I don’t say anything, but I can’t resist the smirk as Lauren flounces off with one last dramatic sigh, muttering something under her breath I don’t bother trying to catch.

The second she’s out of earshot, I let out a low laugh and shake my head. “You didn’t have to do her that dirty, man.”

Hughie shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “She deserved it. And you’re welcome.”

He’s not wrong, but I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I lean back in my chair and grin. “You’re a real fucking hero, Hugh.”

“Damn right,” he says, smirking as he pulls out his phone. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about your assignment.”

I groan and throw my head back dramatically. “Will it ever end?”

He snorts, and when I glance at him, he’s smiling at me fondly. “You’re a fucking dork.”

I roll my eyes and lean back again. “Whatever, out with it. What about my assignment?”

His eyes search mine, and then he sighs. “I talked to Coach. He’s pulling you over to us.”

The wave of joy that hits me nearly makes me lightheaded.

Hockey has always been my number one. Not just a preference, it’s the dream.

I grew up watching games on the tv, practicing with Hughie, obsessing over stats, memorizing players, learning the rhythm of the sport like it was a language only we spoke.

I shadowed the team doctor in high school, just for the chance to be near the rink.

I wrote every college essay about it. I practically mapped my entire future around one goal: get into the pro league as a team physician and keep those guys on the ice.

“Seriously?” I breathe, smiling so hard at Hughie it actually hurts.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, seriously. The email should come through any minute now.”

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best brother ever?” I say, all sarcasm but really, he kind of is.

He groans and stands. “Get your shit. I wanna go home before it starts raining.”

It’s nearly eleven p.m., and at this point, I’m basically a permanent fixture on the couch, halfway through a binge of my favorite TV series, when Hughie comes storming down the narrow hallway of our apartment with a scowl that would make a normal person piss their pants.

“Who shit in your cereal?” I ask, smirking as I take a lazy sip of my beer.

He glares and shakes his head. “Fucking teammates are having a party.”

I chuckle, eyeing him over the rim of my bottle. Hughie’s not exactly what you’d call social. Honestly, he doesn’t really like people at all. But right now, he looks downright homicidal with his jaw ticking and his eyes scrunched up in frustration.

And his outfit? Straight out of Grease. He has on a leather jacket, white t-shirt, tight-ass jeans, and black biker boots. His dark brown hair is slicked back and still damp from the shower, making him look like a pissed-off extra from a 50s movie.

“Since when do you avoid parties with your favorite people?” I tease.

He groans. “They fucking posted a video of Mack having a threesome on the goddamn couch.”

I grimace. “Yikes.”

That’s... bad. I mean, I’m all for sexual freedom, do your thing, but NHL hopefuls don’t usually post their sexcapades unless they’re trying to tank their careers.

“Yeah, fucking yikes,” he mutters, lacing his boots like he’s gearing up for war and not an out of hand college party. “Now I’ve gotta go cock block the guy and shut down a party I didn’t even want to know about, let alone attend.”

“You need help?” I offer, mostly out of obligation. I’m really hoping he says no. The last thing I want is to walk into that shitshow. And I definitely don’t want to see Mack’s dick.

Nothing against dick. I occasionally make out with people who have them. But Mack? Mack is a manwhore and a complete idiot. Herding him at a party sounds like actual hell, and I don’t envy Hughie one bit.

“No,” Hugh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m kinda hoping Griff or Terry are around to help out.”

I nod. His Captain and Alternate. Honestly, if either of them are there, this should be their mess to clean up, not Hughie’s. He’s not the team babysitter.

But because he’s dependable, and maybe because he actually gives a shit, he always ends up being the one to put out everyone else’s fires.

And yeah, that pisses me off more than a little. Not that I would ever admit that shit out loud. But that team spends a lot of time using him to get out of issues without actually inviting him to hang out. Which is really fucked because Hugh might be one of the best people I know.

He stands to leave, and I call out, “How many views on that video?”

He grumbles something under his breath, grabs his keys, and slams the door behind him.

I’m pretty sure he said, too many.