Chapter 40 Colt
Colt
“We’re here with Jameson Booker, captain of the Saint Augustine Knights. Jameson, how does it feel to be one game away from the playoffs?” The reporter holds the mic out to Booker.
“Yeah, it feels great. It was a hard-fought journey, and I couldn’t be prouder of my guys.” Booker hates doing interviews, but Coach insisted on him talking to the media after this game, knowing they would probably ask about me.
“Hard-fought, indeed,” the reporter agrees. “Your team has struggled since losing Colton Crosby. There’s a rumor going around that he will be returning to the ice next weekend for the final game of the season. Is this true?”
Booker glances down the hall, where I’m leaning against the wall, having been watching his interview and waiting for the rest of the guys to come out of the locker room.
I nod, confirming the reporter’s question about the rumor. I’m playing next weekend; I won’t chicken out now. My team needed to win three games in a row to get to the playoffs, and by God, they’re almost there.
“That’s right,” Booker says into the camera. “Colt’s all healed up and ready to get back out there.”
“Last question before we let you go. Saint Augustine’s hasn’t been to the Frozen Four since they won the whole thing six years ago.
Do you think your team has a shot at bringing home that trophy?
” The reporter locks her gaze on Booker as he thinks through his answer, licking a bead of sweat from his lip.
“The L’s we took this season weren’t from lack of skill.
I don’t think our record accurately reflects the level of talent we have on this team.
We went through more than just the loss of a player when Colt was injured, and it was a tough blow for the entire team to overcome.
But he’s back, and we won’t take the opportunity for granted.
We fought our asses off the last two games so that he could play again this season.
So, hell yeah, I think we have everything we need to bring home the championship win. ”
The reporter smiles at him, pleased with the amount of emotion her last question brought forth from the usually terse captain. “Thank you, Jameson. Great win tonight, and we hope to see you soon.”
When the camera quits rolling, Booker shakes her hand and makes his way over to me.
“You’re not supposed to cuss during interviews,” I jab as he walks over, causing him to smirk.
“Shut up. They’re lucky I talked to them at all,” he replies. “You’ll be doing that next year, though.”
“You think you won’t have to give interviews as a rookie for the Flyers? It’ll be ten times worse than it is now,” I remind him, laughing when he grimaces.
I expect him to go in for a shower, since he was caught for the interview right after the game ended and hasn’t changed yet. Instead, he surprises me by asking, “So, are you ready to come back? Honestly? You aren’t just pushing yourself for our sake, right?”
“I’m ready, Book, I swear. Watching y’all play these last two games without me has been torture.”
“Fischer’s done pretty well on first line,” Booker comments. “You’re gonna have to get used to him out there when I’m gone.”
Sadness ripples through my chest at the thought of no longer playing on the same team, but I push it away, knowing college can’t last forever.
And, if anyone deserves to go pro, it’s Booker.
I just have to hold onto the hope I can get signed to the same team, or at the very least, a team in the same conference.
“You’re starting to slow down anyway, old man. Better to let the younger guys take over,” I quip, earning a snort and a shove.
“Fuck off, Crosby,” he retorts—which is Booker’s version of “I love you”—before he finally goes into the locker room.
I spent the entire week leading up to the game on the ice. When I’m not in class, I go to the arena and run drills by myself. I arrive at practices early, and I stay late. I refuse to fear the game when I’m this close.
Our game Saturday night is a home game against the University of Maryland. After our chat in the restaurant bathroom, I’m not necessarily worried about Kingston specifically; it’s the rest of his team I don’t trust.
They’re head coach teaches them to play aggressive and dirty. Drake may spend the most amount of time in the bin, but the rest of their team puts in the minutes as well.
Thursday night, hours after practice ended, I hear footsteps heading toward the ice—more than one set.
Looking over to the opening of the tunnel, I see my three teammates along with Stella and Nora. All five of them are each holding a pair of skates.
I glide over to the boards in front of the bench, where my friends sit to change their footwear. Stella looks me up and down appreciatively, biting her lip, and fuck if it doesn’t have my blood rushing south.
I ditched my practice jersey and pads a while ago because I was sweating my ass off, so now I’m only sporting a white compression shirt, which leaves nothing to the imagination.
I take off my helmet and set it on the boards in front of me, shaking out my sweaty hair. “What are you guys doing here?” I inquire curiously.
“You’ve been here alone every day this week, we figured you could use some company,” Stella answers, leaning over the boards to give me a quick peck.
“Do you even know how to skate?” I ask, teasing her with a shit-eating grin that earns me a shove to the shoulder.
Booker, Beau, and Drew each finish getting their skates on and hop over the boards to join me on the ice. They’re all in fresh hockey pants and sweatshirts, their gear bags all lying on the floor under the bench.
“You guys didn’t have to come back,” I say.
“Someone had to make sure you don’t wear your ass out before Saturday. We’re gonna need you in fighting condition, not sore as shit,” Beau retorts, skating out with his stick to where I abandoned a pile of pucks. Booker smacks me on the back before going to join him.
Drew stays and helps Nora climb over the boards. “This would be easier if you weren’t so short,” he teases.
“I’m not even short!” she protests.
Stella’s last to join me in the rink. I offer her a hand as she slides over the boards, and she holds onto my hand even tighter when her blades hit the ice. I make a move to start skating away, and she tenses every muscle in her body.
A sly grin spreads across my face. “Stella…” I drawl. “Got something you want to tell me?”
“Nope!” Stella replies in a too-chipper tone.
“Okay,” I say, shrugging. “I’m gonna let go and go shoot with Beau and Booker, then.”
I start to retract my hand from her grasp, and she relents. “Fine! Don’t let go.” She looks down at her feet as she says, “I can’t skate” in a soft admission of defeat.
I stick my tongue in cheek, trying to hold back a smile and fail. She’s just so damn cute.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she begs.
“I would never,” I say, skating closer and placing my hands on her waist. “I just can’t believe you kept the fact that you couldn’t skate from me for this long,” I tease.
“I’m literally from the heart of the South! There was no reason for me to learn how to ice skate; we don’t even have ice,” she defends with so much sass I can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” I say, bending to brush a kiss to her lips. She kisses me back all too eagerly, which causes her to lose her center of balance and stumble. The whole thing results in her clinging to my body like her life depends on it.
Laughing again, I hold her by the upper arms, steadying her once more. “Do you want me to teach you how to skate?” I ask, finally easing up on teasing her.
She looks around the ice, where the boys are showing Nora how to shoot a wrist shot, with Beau acting as goalie.
Stella nods, meeting my eyes. “Will you?”
“Of course.” I take both her hands and pull her away from the wall, skating backward to the other side of the rink from our friends. Stella’s stiff as a board, the anxiety she’s feeling painted plainly on her face.
“Breathe and relax. Being tense makes you more off balance. Your muscles need to be loose.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out, following my instructions.
If I think about it too hard, I could get really turned on by the idea of her letting me order her around, but I push the thought aside.
Skating with a boner isn’t an enjoyable experience.
“Good. Now stand there for a minute and watch my feet, okay?” I let go of her hands and skate backward so that I’m far enough away that I won’t run into her, but still close enough that she can study my footwork.
After a couple of tries, she gets the hang of going forward in a straight line without wobbling too badly. Stopping, however, isn’t her strong suit, and she catches herself on the boards every single time.
I show Stella how to slow down and come to a casual stop, and she tries it out a couple of times while holding my hand.
She decides to try the move on her own, and I let her skate a few yards away.
When she tries to maneuver her skates to stop, she slips and hits the ice.
My heart stops in my chest, and I speed over to her, looking for blood.
I kneel down beside her, panic wracking my body, when I realize she’s got her arms thrown over her face because laughing.
“God, that was so freaking embarrassing,” she says through her giggles.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, clutching my chest now that I know she’s alright, willing my heartbeat to slow back down to a normal speed. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“I’m fine,” she says, sitting up. “At least now you got a little taste of your own medicine,” she jokes shyly, wondering if it’s too soon to be teasing around about everything that happened.
I grin at her, letting her know I enjoy the sass she’s dishing out tonight. “You’d better watch that smart mouth,” I whisper so only we can hear, gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger, “or I’m going to find a better use for it later.”
The flush that blossoms on her cheeks is instant, and there goes my hope of not having an erection while trying to teach her how to skate.
The air between us heats as she dips her chin just enough to take my thumb into her mouth and suck. The wet heat of her tongue is such a stark contrast to the cold air of the rink. “Fuck,” I grit under my breath.
None of our friends can see what she just did, but I know she’s just as turned on as I am by her little antics.
I push myself onto my feet and help her stand up, pretending none of the last five minutes ever happened, aside from trying to subtly adjust myself in my pants.
Another thirty minutes go by, and Stella’s nearly perfected a leisurely pace and how to stop without falling, which she only did two more times.
When we’re all finished skating for the night, Stella rides home with me instead of Nora, and Beau says he’s got to go make a pit stop—probably meeting a hookup—before heading back to the apartment.