Chapter 25
The puck slaps against my stick and I send it flying across the ice to Erik, who catches it with his stick easily. My legs and lungs are burning, but I can’t stop grinning.
I feel fucking great.
Better than great. Fucking phenomenal, because every time my blades hit the ice, I get a flash of Laura in my lap, saying yes, begging for more.
It’s been two weeks and she’s still all I think about.
“There it is again,” Alex calls as he skates past me, tapping my stick with his own. “The smile.”
“What smile?” I ask, trying to tone it down, but then I think about what it feels like to be inside her, and everything goes out of whack.
Henry raises his stick from the blue line, pointing it in my direction. “The ‘I’m getting laid regularly’ smile. We all get it, Hendricks. Your dick’s getting wet. No need to gloat about it.”
He shakes his head, and charges down the ice with a puck, narrowly avoiding Erik’s attempt to trip him.
“Uh…” Now I feel bad since we all know the trouble Henry’s gotten into with the girls here. Namely none since no one wants a cheater.
Erik skates around me. “Don’t even act confused. You strutted into practice yesterday humming. Humming, Hendricks! Based on that time you tried out for Battle of the Bands in high school, I thought you couldn’t sing.”
Alex barks out a laugh. “That episode was hilarious. Do you remember the bandana he wore?”
“I don’t hum,” I shoot back, diverting the conversation from my high school days.
“No, you don’t,” Alex says. “You’re like Brooks. You brood. You sulk. You lecture me about defense. You do not hum.”
I grin widely now because I can’t argue. They’re not wrong. Ever since that night in the parking lot… and all the nights that have followed, I’ve been insanely happy. I don’t even care if people mention Hendricks Unchecked. I’m too content to care.
Coach blows the whistle, and we reset into the next drill.
I sprint down the ice, pivot, stop hard, and send the puck cleanly into the net.
The cold air burns in my lungs, my legs ache, but none of it wipes the stupid smile off my face.
I push through another rep, then another, until the whistle shrills again for water.
I skate to the bench, grab my bottle, and take a long drink.
“How’s Laura?” Brooks asks, rolling up beside me during the water break.
“She’s good.”
I take a long swig from my water bottle, aiming for casual, but the corner of my mouth betrays me with another twitch of that damn smile.
“‘Good,’” Erik repeats flatly. “That’s it? Tell me your sex is lackluster without telling me your sex is lackluster.”
“That’s not—” I stop myself, noting Erik’s grin. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, and I stupidly fall for it every time.
Brooks shakes his head. “We know you’ve been obsessing over her since last year. You can drop the monotone act.”
“All right, let’s stop ragging on our captain,” Erik says, pushing off the boards. “Just because he's disgustingly happy doesn't mean we need to dissect every moment of it.”
“Says the guy who literally started a group chat about Scotty's love life last year,” Alex points out.
“That was different,” Erik says quickly, waving it off. “That was before I learned about boundaries and respecting people's privacy.”
“Since when do you have boundaries?” I ask. “Aren’t you still messing with that football player’s girlfriend?”
“Eh.” He meets my eyes. “They’re different. The girl needs some help getting him to pull his head out of his ass. I’m just the catalyst.”
Coach McKibbon’s whistle cuts through the conversation. “Unless you want to run extra laps, I’d suggest you stop talking and get back to work!”
We scatter, returning to drills, but I can still feel the knowing grins from my teammates. Let them grin. Let them tease. I don't care anymore.
I'm too busy thinking about Laura's laugh. The way she feels in my arms. The little gasps she makes when I kiss her neck. The way she looked this morning, sprawled across my bed wearing nothing but my t-shirt, her hair a mess and her lips swollen from my kisses.
Erik skates by me, tapping the blade of his stick against mine. “Let’s go, Loverboy. Line rushes.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Just saying. You've got that look.”
“What look?”
“The 'I'm remembering something very specific and very X-rated' look.” He grins. “Trust me, I know it well.”
I shove him, but I'm laughing, because he's not wrong.
The past week has been… intense. Laura and I can't seem to keep our hands off each other. My truck. My dorm room. The storage room at the rink after everyone left. We're like teenagers, constantly finding excuses to touch each other, to be alone together.
And the sex. Fuck, the sex.
Turns out Laura has a thing for the possibility of getting caught. And I have a thing for making her loud. The combination is going to get us in trouble one of these days, but neither of us can seem to stop.
Just last night, we were supposed to be practicing her skating routine. Instead, I had her pressed against the boards, my hand down her pants while she tried—and failed—to stay quiet.
“Scotty,” she'd gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders, hard enough I knew there’d be marks. “Someone could—”
“Someone could what?” I'd murmured against her neck, my fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that had her hips bucking forward. “Someone could hear you? Someone could walk in and see how desperate you are for me?”
Her breath hitched, and I felt her clench around my fingers.
“You like that, don't you, Princess?” I pressed my thumb against her clit while curling my fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her legs shake. “The idea that anyone could come looking for equipment and find you like this. Spread open for me. So wet I can hear it.”
“Scotty, please—” Her head fell back against the boards with a soft thud, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Please what?” I kissed along her jaw, down her throat, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips. “Please stop? Please make you come?”
“Don't stop,” she whimpered, rolling her hips against my hand. “God, don't stop.”
“That's my girl.” I increased the pressure, the rhythm, watching her face as she climbed higher. Her lips parted, her breathing came in short gasps, and those little sounds she made—half-moans, half-whimpers—drove me absolutely insane.
“I can't—it's too much—” she panted, but her body told a different story, tightening around my fingers, her wetness coating my palm.
“Yes, you can.” I bit down gently on her neck, right where I knew she was sensitive. “Come for me, Laura. Let me hear you.”
She shattered with a cry that echoed off the empty rink walls, her whole body trembling as she rode out the waves. I held her through it, murmuring praise against her skin, not stopping until she was boneless and gasping.
She hadn't been quiet. Not even close.
“You coming, Hendricks?” Alex asks, already gliding toward the blue line with that annoyingly graceful stride of his, and I fall in beside him, Brooks trailing behind us to anchor the drill. Henry heads to the opposite circle with his line, giving us space.
Coach has set up three cones across the neutral zone with the puck at the center of the ice.
“Standard rush,” he calls. “Clean passes, clean entries. Hendricks, start us off.”
I nod, drop my shoulders, and wait for the whistle.
The second it blows, I explode forward. Alex matches my pace on the wing; Erik trails slightly behind, ready for the drop. My skates cut hard against the ice as I weave around the first cone, pass off to Erik, and turn up ice for the return.
Erik feeds me the puck. I snap it across to Alex. He takes the shot from the circle, sharp and clean, hitting top corner like it’s nothing.
“Again!” Coach barks.
We reset, fast.
Another whistle.
Another rush.
This time I keep the puck longer, carry it through the cones, fake the pass to Alex, then drop it to Erik at the last second. He rips one that pings off the post, groaning in frustration even as Coach yells, “Better!”
We loop again.
And again.
I push myself harder for the rest of practice, determined to prove I can still do my job even if my brain keeps drifting to Laura—her voice, her laugh, the way she looked at me right before she sank down on me in the truck.
I’m skating faster, sharper, skating like someone who has way too much energy to burn off and only one acceptable outlet: the ice.
Every pass is cleaner. Every shot hits exactly the corner I aim for. McKibbon yells less at me than he does at anyone else, which is how I know I’m doing something right.
By the time he blows the whistle for the final huddle, my lungs burn in the good way and sweat is rolling down my spine. I’m gassed and satisfied as hell with my performance.
“Hendricks!”
Coach’s voice stops me before I can duck into the tunnel toward the locker room.
I wipe my forehead with my glove and skate over. “Yeah, Coach?”
“Got a minute?”
“Sure,” I say, trying not to read too much into his tone.
He’s standing near the bench with a clipboard tucked under his arm, and his eyebrows raised like he’s debating whether to scold me or congratulate me. Hard to tell with him since they look the same most of the time.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Should be asking you that.” He crosses his arms, and though his face is stern, there’s something almost amused in his eyes. “You’ve been distracted lately.”
“Not true. I’ve been scoring,” I point out. “Three goals on Monday, and two assists Friday. I’m leading the league in goals.”
“I’m not questioning your output, Hendricks,” he says flatly. “Your numbers are solid. I’m asking about what’s going on off the ice.”
Oh, shit.
He knows something is up.
I keep my expression neutral and play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been signing in and out of the rink at strange hours,” he says. “Almost midnight on Sunday. Eleven thirty the week before that.” He pauses, then adds evenly, “I know you’re with a girl.”
“Coach,” I say, not sure how to finish that.
My stomach drops.
He knows about Laura.
About the fact that I definitely have not been keeping things professional during our training.
Coach squints, exhaling through his nose. “Hendricks… please tell me you’re not sneaking around with Lydia.”
“What?” I choke. “Who’s Lydia?”
“Don’t play dumb, Hendricks. It’s not cute,” he adds. “She’s one of the ice girls. The redhead.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember if I’ve ever spoken to her. “She’s also my daughter.”
Oh, shit.
“I see her around here after hours, and you’ve been around after hours. It doesn’t take a detective to know what’s going on.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
“No,” I say quickly, hands up in surrender. “Coach, I would never—Lydia? No. Definitely not.”
His shoulders drop—not in relief exactly, but in that subtle shift he does when he unclenches his butt cheeks by two percent. The guy’s a brick wall ninety percent of the time, so two percent is basically an emotional monologue.
“Good,” he says. “Last thing I need is to have a talk with her about ‘appropriate use of the storage room.’”
Storage room?
I want to die.
Actually die.
He said storage room.
He thinks I was in the storage room… with Lydia.
Which means he knows someone was with me.
My face burns.
“So,” he says, eyes pinning me, “if it’s not Lydia… who’s the girl?”
No getting out of this.
I swallow hard. “Laura. The… uh.” I clear my throat. “The girl Professor Foster tried to set me up with last year.”
Coach’s brows shoot up. “No shit.”
I nod.
“My wife will be happy.”
“Uh, that’s good?”
“So what’s the reason for you being here with her late at night? You trying to get some privacy?” he asks with a raised brow.
“No, no,” I answer quickly. “I mean, I like the privacy, but that’s not why we’re always here.”
His lip tilts with amusement at how flustered I am. I can’t help it when it comes to her.
“She’s a singer,” I admit softly. “She’s incredible. I’ve been here late helping her train for an audition that involves skating.”
“She can skate?”
I rub the back of my neck. “We’re working on it, but her voice is perfect for the role.”
“Well, she’s got the best skating coach. I’m sure she’ll ace the audition.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate for a second. “Um, there’s also something I need to ask you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Next Thursday. We've got that game against Southern Collegiate.”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I’ve just found out it overlaps with her callback audition. It’s the final one before they make their decisions.”
Coach is quiet for a long moment, studying me. “You want to miss the game?”
“I know it's a lot to ask—”
“Eh. Southern Collegiate couldn't score on us if we put Connor in goal and had the rest of the team playing with their eyes closed.” He gives me a long look.
“You've earned it. You've played every game this season, you're leading the team in points, and you've never asked for special treatment. You can go.”
Relief floods through me. “Really?”
“Really, but Hendricks?” His expression turns serious. “Don't make me regret this. If she becomes a distraction—”
“She won't be. I promise. Even if we get the gig, it’s during our break. I won’t let it affect any other hockey events.”
“Good. Now get out of here and tell Laura I said good luck.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I skate toward the locker room, my mind already racing ahead to the audition, to my plan, to making sure Laura gets everything she deserves.
The locker room is mostly empty by the time I get there, with Erik tying his shoelaces.
I sit down beside him, pulling off my helmet. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” He glances at me. “You look happy. Coach give you good news?”
“Yeah. He's letting me skip the Southern Collegiate game for Laura's audition.”
“Good.” Erik grins. “She's going to kill it.”
“She will if my plan works,” I mutter and take a deep breath before I ask the question I’ve been avoiding for the last couple of weeks. “Do you like dressing up?”
Erik stops tying his shoe so he can look at me. His eyebrows shoot up, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Hendricks, are you asking me to participate in some kind of kinky role-play scenario? Because the answer is yes. Always. Anytime. Anyplace.”
I shove his shoulder. “Not like that, you pervert.”
“Then what kind of dressing up are we talking about?”
“The kind that involves ice skating and a lot of people watching.”
His grin widens. “People watching and ice skating? I mean… I’m game.”
“Erik—”
“I'm kidding. Mostly.” He leans back, studying me. “But seriously, what do you need?”
I pull out my phone and show him a picture. “Think you can pull this off?”
Erik stares at the screen, his eyes widening before that trademark grin spreads across his face. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”