Chapter 3
BENNETT
For the first time in a hot minute, I’m early to practice. Mainly to prove Coach wrong. But also because I don’t have a helluva lot of to do at the condo. That and the stupid rules I need to follow if I want to stick around.
The cold hits me the second I walk through the arena doors, the familiar scent of sweat mixed with bleach heavy in the air.
Metal doors clatter around me as I open my locker and pull out my practice gear. The image of Tori’s tiny black satin shorts barely covering her ass flicks through my mind.
Fucking hot.
I wonder if she had any panties on under those shorts.
Which is not a thought I need to be having about my warden.
“Bro—” Callum slaps me hard on the back, eliciting a grunt. “Missed you last night. How’re the new digs?”
I shrug. “Alright. Nothing fancy.”
“Gia sent some guys over to pack up all your shit.”
My heart seizes, panic washing over me. This move suddenly feels a lot less temporary.
“Huh. Thought I was just gonna camp out for a few weeks, then come back home when this whole penalty box thing blows over.”
Callum shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Prince seems really agitated about the suspension and the ‘optics,’ as he calls it.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, debating how much of my current Ice Queen predicament to share with my brother.
Slamming the metal locker shut, I decide to unload on him.
“Dude,” I drop my voice low as more guys file into the locker room. “Prince has me on total lockdown. He has Tori fucking babysitting me.”
Callum’s eyes crinkle, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“No. I wish I was. She gave me a long-ass list of rules to follow. Ridiculous stuff, like curfew and daily check-ins.”
Callum whistles, long and low. “Damn, that’s harsh. The Ice Queen’s got a tight leash on you, then?”
I press my lips together, annoyed at his analogy — and how close to home it hits.
“Nah. No one tames Bennett Steele.”
“Talking about yourself in third person is never a good sign.” Weston sidles up next to me and taps the combo on his locker.
“He’s already cracking under the strain.” Callum elbows my ribs and I flick both of them off.
“Whatever. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Pretty sure that’s an interchangeable line that could be used about any of your — I don’t know what to call them — conquests?” Weston laughs, slipping his jersey over his head.
“Yo, Bennett!” Morrison, a dark-haired, hot-shot right winger, shouts across the now-filled locker room. “You got company. Right outside.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder and smirks. A few guys laugh and whistle, hooting and hollering at me as I walk by.
“Jealous, Morrison?” I smirk, laughing. Then I swing out of the locker room, skates in hand, acting casual.
“Good, you made it.” Tori gives me a quick once-over, her eyes lingering a touch longer than necessary on my tight practice pants.
“I told you. I’m extremely punctual. Like the team player I am.” I lean against my stick, crowding into her personal space to get a rise.
The apples of her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she leans in and now we’re even closer than we were a few seconds ago.
Game on.
“Great. Keep it that way. While you’re at it—go out there and skate like your life depends on it. The sooner you’re fully reinstated, the quicker I get my life back.” She juts her chin out, dark eyes flashing.
“Already trying to get rid of me, Sunshine?” I tease, locking my gaze on hers. “We’ve hardly had any fun yet.”
“I don’t do fun, Steele. I work. Hard.”
“So do I. But haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘Work hard, play harder?’”
“I work hard. Then work harder. Life’s too short for stupid games.”
“I disagree. I earn my living playing games.”
She breathes out a quiet sigh, her expensive floral scent swirling around me. Roses, maybe?
“I know. You don’t have a serious cell in your body.”
I straighten, squaring up my shoulders. “Not true. Shows how little you know about me. I take hockey extremely seriously.”
“Great. Go out there and prove it.” She spins around and heads down the hallway, stilettos clicking loudly on the concrete.
Challenge accepted.
And I hope she fucking watches every single second.
The locker room door swings open behind me, loud male voices echoing off the cinder block walls.
“Steele! Let’s go.” Morrison shoves my shoulder, propelling me forward, and I move with the crowd toward the ice.
Coach Keller waits for us at the bench gate, clipboard in hand, scowling. Like he’s already pissed off and we haven’t started practice yet.
“Let’s go—warm up!” He shouts the command, arms folded across his dark blue Coastal Crushers sweatshirt.
I hustle over to the bench, sliding the guards off my skates. Every muscle in my body twitches, ready for action. Typically, practice isn’t my favorite — I much prefer games.
But today, I have something to prove.
I earned my spot on this team—and I’ll be damned if I’m about to lose it because of some stupid made-up rules.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tori taking a first-row seat behind the glass near the gate.
Her posture perfect, expression neutral.
As if she’s a casual observer, not my own personal parole officer.
Phone in hand, she’s tapping away. Probably trying to explain the pj incident to her fancy-pants client.
“Sometime today, Puck Bunny.” Weston nudges me off the bench and I give my arms a quick shake, expelling a few nerves.
We take a couple quick laps, then Coach motions us to the boards near the blue line.
“Breakout to shot flow. D to winger, winger to center, center wide, take the shot. Got it?”
Heads nod and we get into formation. I’m first line, to the right of Weston, with Morrison on his left.
The puck hits the ice, Coach blows the whistle, and we’re off the line, the snick of blades against the ice filling the air.
Ford slices the puck to me and I smack it over to Weston.
Gliding toward the net, Weston makes contact and the puck flies toward Vic.
Head down, Vic takes the shot and Callum stops it with his glove.
“Next!” Coach barks as we circle back, the second line already running the drill.
We run through the breakout flow two more times and now I’m good and warm, sweat beading at my hairline. I sneak a quick peek behind the glass and catch Tori’s eyes on me.
Super. Let her watch.
“Heard Prince got you a babysitter, Steele.” Morrison swivels his stick, smirking. “At least she’s hot.”
“She’s not my babysitter, asshole.” I shove down the bubbling annoyance at both my teammate and my current situation. “And I hadn’t noticed.”
“Really? You haven’t clocked her? That’s out of character for you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Morrison,” I growl, grinding my molars. “That’s the owner’s daughter you’re talking about.”
“I’ll give Prince credit — he gave you a problem you actually want.” Morrison snickers and I tighten the grip on my stick so hard my knuckles crack.
“Again!” Coach blows his whistle, breaking the tension between us. I slap at the puck, shooting it over to Weston.
Morrison’s wrong. The Ice Queen is not a problem I want.
Even if I did like catching her off-guard in her pjs this morning. And am sort of looking forward to testing her boundaries, seeing just how far I can push her.
No. Not the vibe, Steele. Forget about the Ice Queen.
I’m going to do my time, then get back to living my same old lifestyle. Hockey, party, rinse and repeat. It’s not complicated. Just how I like it.
At least, doesn’t have to be.
Circling back to the line, I swipe at my brow, chest heaving. Tori’s still tracking my every move. And her phone’s nowhere in sight now.
She’s definitely watching.
Waiting for me to screw up.
Fine. I won’t give her anything to work with.
“Same lines — catch and shoot. No dust.” Coach motions at Weston and an assistant coach feeds him a puck. He skates toward the net and sends the disc flying.
“Callum says no, Cap. Better luck next time,” Ford chirps as the puck lands squarely in Callum’s glove.
Weston shakes his head, looping back toward us as Morrison connects with the puck. Callum saves his shot too, and now I’m up.
I focus on the puck, firing the shot immediately, trying to beat Callum far side.
“Not today, Benny.” Callum tips his chin at me and I grimace.
“We’ll see about that.” I set my jaw and skate back to the line.
“Next! Same pace!” Coach barks. “And how about we make some goals today, huh?”
I shift my weight from skate to skate, staying loose. The assistant feeds Weston another puck and he releases it so quick it’s a black blur.
“Score!” Weston pumps his fist in the air, victorious. Callum taps the ice with his stick, resetting before Morrison takes his turn at the net.
He misses.
Thank fuck.
“Must be distracted, huh?” I rib, digging my blade into the line, ready.
“Not half as bad as you, Benny Boy,” Morrison chirps as the assistant slides a puck in my direction.
Slicing across the ice, I change angles and backhand in off the catch. The puck sinks into the goal and I spin around to face Morrison, beaming.
“Yeah, talk now.”
Morrison’s stick stills, his smug grin melting off his face. He shrugs.
“Lucky shot.”
Ignoring Morrison, I peel off and skate toward the boards.
Toward Tori.
As I coast past her seat, I tap my stick on the glass once.
You’re welcome.
She locks her dark espresso eyes on mine, her hands coming together in one slow clap. Her face stays neutral, unreadable.
She’s fucking maddening.
I turn and skate back to the line for the next drill.
It’s gonna take more than a hockey goal to crack her.