Unlovable Player (Ivy League Players #2)

Austin

AUSTIN

T he second we skate out onto the ice, Yale’s center-forward is there with that shit-eating, rich-boy grin I’d love to smack right off his face.

He keeps looking at me as we get into position for the opening face-off. His eyes still on me when he should be looking for the puck, and I swear I can feel him staring a hole into my head. I glance up and he fucking winks at me.

Whatever. I’ll watch for the puck and he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

The second the puck drops, Huntington ignores it and rams into me.

By the time I figure out his play, their left-winger’s skated in behind him and steals the puck.

I shove Huntington off me. “Fucking dick!”

“Keep up pretty boy,” he singsongs as he skates off.

My blood’s boiling as I skate into line. That was my fault. I should have been ready for him to do that. It’s his M.O all over.

Since Yale won the face-off, they manage to keep the puck in our defensive zone and get a few shots on target, but our goalie Olivetti, keeps them out. It isn’t an exaggeration to brag that we have the best goalie currently playing in the NCAA. We’re just lucky the NHL likes to give goaltenders a bit more time to develop before signing them to a pro team, or we would have lost him last year.

We win the puck behind Yale’s goal, Gray passes to me and I manage a breakaway down the line, cruising through the neutral zone before anyone can catch up. I look up and find Gray on my right and pass while the rest of the guys get their asses down here.

Gray hits it off the board and I catch it on my stick. I take a shot on goal. Two minutes in and we’re on the board.

Despite not playing defense, Yale’s resident asshole seems to have a vendetta against me and everywhere I look, he’s on me like flies on shit.

He steals the puck at center ice and breaks away. My lungs burning as I chase him down, but our defense stop him and we narrowly avoid conceding a goal as we go into the second period.

I’m feeling good as I sit on the bench. Sweaty, out of breath, muscles burning. The guys I’ve played with the past few years and a few new ones either side. Cracking jokes about Yale’s shitty defense.

When I look over to the Yale bench, Huntington’s glaring again. He winks at me and I groan.

Gray leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “I think he has a crush on you.”

“I think he gets off on pissing me off.”

So don’t show him it’s working.

That’s easier said than done.

We face off again in the second period, and I’m prepared for whatever he might throw at me this time. Surely he won’t try the same thing twice? I expect him to go for my stick this time. Though he’ll probably go for the puck to throw me off.

Nope. He rams right into me again, but this time I ram back. He drops his stick and holds on, pulling at my jersey and we butt helmets. I look up and his eyes are right there. Jesus, I hate this rich asshole .

Our faces are so close I can make out the freckles covering the top of his nose and cheeks, strands of dirty blond hair sticking out from under his helmet, the sheen of sweat on the end of his nose. He grins, flashing a set of pearly white teeth with a little gap.

“Wanna go pretty boy?”

“Wanna fuck off rich boy?”

He laughs and pushes me away.

The ref starts the face-off over and this time, I don’t even look at him. Maybe he’s distracted this time, because I get a chance to smack his stick out of the way and pass the puck to Gray, who skates down the ice like a rocket.

The second period is goalless and when we get out there in the third, it’s all to play for. One goal is shit in the grand scheme of things and Yale come out swinging.

I’m crushed in the corner behind Yale’s goal, fighting for the puck, when I feel something crash into my back. I’m pushed forward and Yale win the puck. When their defenseman skates back with it, I’m plunged forward and go head first onto the ice.

I hear a whistle and someone’s helping me up.

I’m disoriented, but not hurt. Jordan - our main enforcer - is throwing his gloves off and shoving Huntington back against the boards. Huntington flashing him that same shit-eating grin I’m treated to every game.

The ref breaks it up and while Jordan’s back’s turned, Huntington grins at me.

Fucking dick.

We manage to get two more goals in the last ten minutes and win the game 3-0, but I’m still pissed. Despite scoring the first goal and getting an assist, that asshole really got under my skin.

Back in the locker room, Coach tells us we did a good job and debriefs us about what we could have done better for next time before letting us go.

I call my ma as soon as I get out of the arena and she picks up on the first ring. I can imagine her in the living room with a bowl of popcorn, screaming at the TV.

She whoops as soon as she picks up. “Well done baby, that goal was amazing.”

“Thanks, how are you?”

“Fine, fine, are you okay?”

“I’m good.”

“You didn’t get hurt when you went down?”

“Nope. Don’t worry Ma, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She’s trying to sound cool about it when I know how much she stresses.

“That Huntington guy’s a real asshole huh?”

“The fucking worst.”

“Hey, language!”

“Sorry.”

“Leave that shit on the ice.”

I laugh. “How come it’s okay for you to curse but not me?”

“Because I’m your mother, that’s why.”

“Uh huh.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Going home to eat a shit ton of food before crashing into bed. You?”

“Same.”

I laugh. “You working tomorrow?”

“I’m on the late shift, so I’ll just talk to you Monday or something.”

“Alright, love you Ma.”

“Love you too.”

I see Yale’s coach parked outside the arena as I put the phone down and wish I could slash their tires. I know it’s unsportsmanlike, but I’d love to rub something in Huntington’s smug, rich face. Yeah we won, but he’s a dick, and he’ll keep being a dick unless someone teaches him a lesson.

I walk past and wait for the bus home instead, doing the right thing.