Chapter 1 Gloves Off , Game On Luna #2
A flash of movement pulls my gaze to the empty bleachers as I’m skating over to grab my twisty tripod off the bench. There’s no sign of anyone up there when I give a scan of the area, though, so I shrug it off and head back to my girls.
They’re taking turns brushing each other’s hair and talking about what they’re going to say.
“No, Beth, your resolution cannot be to join the mile-high club. Getting shadow banned will not help my numbers.” She laughs. “You weren’t supposed to hear that one, Captain, but for the record, I was joking.”
“Uh huh.” I shake my head at her, fiddling with the camera.
“Who’s first?” I’ll be up late editing it all together, so it doesn’t matter what order they go in.
In a move that surprises nobody, Beth throws her stick in the air. Somehow, the thirty seconds of swiping a brush through her hair, combined with a hint of lip gloss, left her looking like she just threw off her makeup artist’s cape.
Her eyes have the same steely focus she gets before a game. “Ready for me?” “Action!” She launches forward at the sharp clap of my hands.
She slides to a stop in front of the net, a big smile popping out her dimples. “I’m Beth, and my New Year’s resolution is to bang every member of the men’s hockey team.”
“Bethany Ann!!!” I yell at her.
Everyone cracks up, laughter echoing across the big open space as she resets herself.
“Sorry. I had to. Use it for the blooper reel. I’ll be serious now.”
She rips up again and says her goal is to kick Chicago’s ass in our next game. Everyone cheers for that one, and it sets the tone for the rest of the team.
There are a couple of goofy ones in there. Brit claims she’s going to eat pizza every week, and Layla says she’s going cafeteria tray sledding on the North hill. Then it’s my turn.
Everyone is still laughing with Layla as I’m racing toward the camera for the final shot.
“What’s going on out here? This is our ice time!”
The booming male voice cuts over mine as I’m about to speak.
“Give me a minute.” I just need to record one more. A kind of important one since it’s going up on my socials.
“Not happening. Clear off.”
I look up in irritation to spot Beau Whitaker. The captain of the men’s hockey team. Center of the universe. At least, that’s what he seems to think. I can’t believe I didn’t notice them all tromping up the tunnel and onto the ice, but we were being pretty loud down here at the end of the arena.
“Please. You guys can get your practice started. I only need like thirty seconds.” I’m sure he can give me that.
“No. It’s our time. Clear off so we can get going. This had better not be the way you think things are going to go with your new ice time. You might play fast and loose with your practice times, but we take this seriously. We’re here to play hockey, not do our hair and make videos.”
Seriously? What an asshole. Beau Whitaker. Of course, Mr. Golden Boy is a member of team women-can’t-be-serious-about-sports. He’s been in the boys’ club since he came out of the womb, platinum spoon intact.” We’re here to play hockey too, asshole.”
“Not what it looks like from here,” he says, gloves propped on the stick he’s leaning on. Looks like an extra long one. He’s probably compensating.
“Hey, can I be in your video?” My lips twitch as their goalie, Jenson, races over.
“JJ, get your ass back in line!” Beau’s voice booms out again, and the goalie stumbles, almost tipping over in his hurry to skate back to his team.
“Sorry, Beau.”
Their captain doesn’t respond, folding his arms over his chest as he stares me down.
While his entire attitude has me itching to let loose on him, our time on the ice is over.
I’ll have to record my bit behind the scenes.
I’m sure I can still make it work. Maybe in front of one of the Lightning logos painted in the lobby.
“Okay, ladies, let’s clear out. Let the boys get on with their much-needed ice time.” I can’t resist at least one dig before we leave it to them. “They’re obviously afraid we’re going to show them up.”
The tension is getting uncomfortable, so I’m more than happy to clear out of their way, but of course he can’t leave it alone.
“Wilder!”
I whip around at the sound of my name, surprised he even bothered to learn it. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to clean up after yourself?” He chucks his chin at the orange cones we left out from our last drill. Cones that there is a ninety percent chance he’s going to use with his team. Now he’s just being a dick.
“Are you serious?”
He tilts his head to study me. “Yes.”
Now I’m fuming. An uncomfortable heat sears me from the inside as I think of every single thing I should say to him.
But I keep my mouth shut as I whiz around the edge of the ice, ducking to pick up every last one of the cones.
I drop them by the pile of equipment with a clatter and clear off so fast I’m surprised my skates don’t leave a trail of steam.
The door slams shut with a bang. I peel off my helmet, jaw still tight, before I even hit the bench. “That asshole is lucky I didn’t throw my stick at his head. Dude came in like a stormtrooper because I was recording a thirty-second video. Like I personally insulted the sanctity of men’s hockey.”
Maisie plops onto the bench, reaching down to unlace her skates. “He’s intense, huh?”
“Intense?” I scoff, unstrapping my pads. “He’s a walking pressure cooker. Uptight. Controlling. Acts like the entire campus exists to orbit around his perfectly gelled hair and daddy issues.”
Beth chokes on a laugh. “Damn.”
“I’m not wrong.” I wave a hand. “He can barely look anyone in the eye unless it’s to judge them. Probably has a color-coded calendar for when he’s allowed to feel feelings.”
The girls are all laughing, egging me on.
“And honestly?” I keep going, too wound up to stop.
“I wouldn’t date him if he was the last eligible human on the planet.
I don’t care how many assists he racks up or how many scouts are foaming at the mouth.
He’s just another emotionally unavailable rich boy playing at depth.
You take away the hockey and the family money and what’s left? ”
Beth hums. “A tightly wound man in a polo shirt?”
I grin, savage. “Exactly. You strip it all down, and Beau Whitaker is just a rich guy with an organizer where his personality should be.”
“What a dick! Don’t worry, I won’t sleep with him,” Beth says, shooting a puck across the dressing room. The girls all cheer when it lands on the top shelf of Jenna’s locker.
Was that even an option?
“Not unless you want to seduce him, get him to fall for you, and then break his heart.” Maisie bobs her eyebrows at Beth.
“That seems like a very convoluted revenge plan. And it might have a tiny flaw. I don’t think that guy has a heart. Or if he does, it’s frozen in a block of ice.”
I can’t ignore the twinge of guilt twisting my heart as everyone laughs.
As the leader of the team, I should set the example, not trash talk the captain of the men’s team.
And I know we shouldn’t have gone over our practice time.
That one is on me. But he really didn’t need to be such an ass about it.
His reaction was a bit over the top. But I need to reel this back in before it gets out of control.
“You know what? It’s fine. We should have cleared out on time.
Ice time is at a premium, and this is our new schedule.
We’re going to have to be more conscious of this for the rest of the year.
We need to be able to get along with these guys.
So let’s be the professional ones, and don’t start any childish games with them.
” As much as it pains me to admit it. I let my anger get the better of me.
“You all know we have to work ten times as hard to be taken seriously as female athletes. We’re not derailing our progress like that. ”
“No way. Prank war!” Krista yells.
“As team captain, I forbid you from playing pranks on them.”
“But think how good that would play on camera?” Maisie says. “Your followers would eat it up.”
“No. No, no, no.” Shit, I don’t have time to manage the situation if it slips off the tracks. Not between my schoolwork, leading the hockey team, and running my social media. The weight in my chest ramps up again as my responsibilities chase each other around in my head, taunting me. “No pranks.”
“Fine.”
I scan my teammates, getting a series of nods. Fingers crossed, that’ll stick.
The heat of the shower is calling my name, and I’m willing to risk the shitty water pressure in our dressing room to clean up.
Even though I’m heading to the workout room to bide my time until the meeting that’s been called after practice.
Butterflies are flying rampant in my stomach.
I’ve been called into a meeting with the athletic director, coach, and our PR team.
I’m sure it’s nothing too crazy. Probably just a beginning of year planning session. But I have to lean against the wall and take several deep breaths to head off the anxiety crackling back to life.