Faceoff, p.4
Faceoff, page 4
Adam: Good. See you tomorrow.
She closed out the text message and set her phone down, looking around her kitchen. At least she had dishes she could do.
God, that was pathetic. She needed to get out more. Maybe she should look into the online dating site that her sister had recommended. That’s how she’d met Max, and they were blissfully happy.
But then Sara remembered Lexi’s horror stories. Yeah, maybe not.
Sully hit the ice for warm-ups Friday night. It was their first preseason game, and he was ready. Most of the lines were the same, with some small tweaks, but he was still on the top line with Harty and Cheesy. They’d run drills all week, and they were solid. A few of the prospects were scattered in so they could get the feel of a real NHL game. They had six preseason games, and usually, the vets played in three or four of them, but Sully was glad he was on the ice tonight.
Practice was one thing, but playing the game was what he loved more than anything. Even if there were no real points in the game tonight, both teams would play like there were. You couldn’t slack off in preseason because your position within the team was never guaranteed. A rookie could steal the show and lines could change.
He skated a loop around the Strikers’ half of the ice, his skates cutting through the smooth surface, his stick gliding over the ice. Dom had knocked the stack of pucks onto the ice, and they took turns firing on Gally in net. There was an energy in the room. The arena wasn’t full like it would be during the regular season, but they had a decent showing.
The long summer drought was over, and hockey season was finally back. Not that hockey players didn’t train extensively on the ice during the off-season, but it wasn’t the same. They’d had a slightly longer summer than Anaheim, who’d gotten to the west coast final, but the guys were raring to go.
Sully dropped down next to Cheesy to stretch his hips, rotating back and forth to deepen the stretch.
“Nice pep talk, by the way,” he said to his captain. “Even threw in a few jokes.”
Cheesy snorted. “Amanda gives me a list of jokes and chirps before each practice. She claims it will make us a stronger team, but I think she likes the idea of me messing up her jokes and you guys ratting me out.”
Sully laughed. “We would never. What’s her phone number again?”
“Very funny,” Cheesy shot back.
He’d had three funny quips during his speech. The man was more superstitious than any player Sully had ever met and he had a thing for threes. No doubt, Amanda knew that. Sully was sure the whole world knew that, thanks to the team’s behind-the-scenes show that had started last year.
Sully finished his stretches and took another lap around the ice before he fired a few pucks on net. Gally managed to stop at least half of them.
An hour later, they were halfway through the first period. Anaheim had the only goal on the board due to a lucky bounce, and the puck was currently on Sully’s stick. He streaked up the ice, his focus on putting the puck in the back of the net and not on the guys around him. He narrowly escaped a hard hit from Anaheim’s top defenseman, and he spotted Harty out of the corner of his eye. He shot the puck to Harty, but one of Anaheim’s forwards grabbed it and back into the Strikers’ end they went.
But the Strikers weren’t ready due to a bad change on the bench, and the goal horn blared.
“Fuck,” Sully bit out as he headed to the bench.
“What happened?” Seibs, one of their assistant coaches, shouted as Sully slid onto the bench next to Harty and Cheesy.
They were all gassed. Sully took in a deep breath before grabbing the water bottle in front of him.
“Sully, their forward was in your direct line,” Seibs continued.
“Yeah, that’s on me. I was aiming for Harty. We’ll get it back,” Sully said, grabbing a towel held out to him so he could wipe his visor.
“Damn right, we will,” Harty said, and Sully shot him a nod in agreement.
“Don’t get cocky, boys. We’re down by two, and it’s only the first period,” Bugsy, their coach, called out as he nudged Sully’s shoulder.
Yeah, that was on him, and it sucked.
“Your boy looks good,” Cheesy said to Harty as Jake deked around one of Anaheim’s players and snagged the puck. Seconds later, the puck hit the back of the net and Anaheim’s lead was cut in half. The guys on the bench jumped up, with gloved fists held out for Jake and his linemates to tap as they made their way down the line.
Jake’s celly was a little exaggerated, so the guys were holding their fists out longer than normal. Since it was the man’s first goal with the team, they wouldn’t give him too much shit for his celly after the game.
“Yeah, he’s great on the ice,” Harty said as they sat back down to watch the next faceoff.
With a minute left in the second period, Jake tied it up and the crowd roared. And seconds later, when Sully had the chance to put them up one, he shot the puck right into the pipes, the clang echoing through his ears louder than the buzzer blaring to end the period.
Fuck. He was off.
They made their way down the tunnel to the locker room. A few of the guys stripped out of their gear, doing a full change. One of his teammates headed for the showers. The guy quickly showered between every period. He said it helped him refocus. Sully had no desire to remove his gear and then rush to put it back on within the twenty minutes they had, no matter how sweaty he was.
The guys all patted Jake on the back, telling him to keep up the scoring, and he grinned, sitting next to Harty.
“Just like old times.” Jake nudged Harty’s shoulder.
Harty laughed. “Not totally like old times. You heard what Bugsy said.”
“Ahh, they all say that.” Jake shrugged.
Sully had heard all about the conversation—well, rant would be a better description—Bugsy had barked at Jake and Harty once Jake had arrived in San Francisco. They had a history, and it appeared that while most of Harty’s was exaggerated, Jake’s was not.
But he was a damn good player. As evidenced by the two goals tonight.
Sully needed to step it up.
With five minutes to spare, Bugsy and the assistant coaches stepped into the room.
“Great job, Jake, for tying it up at the end. We’re going to play around with the lines. It’s preseason, so it’s a great time for us to mix it up.”
An uneasy feeling settled in Sully’s gut.
“Finn, you’ll be up with Baz, and Crow will be with Fishy,” Bugsy said.
“You can’t split up Finn and Fishy,” one of the guys called out as Baz hummed Under the Sea.
Bugsy ignored the outburst and continued: “And, Jake, I’m going to have you switch with Sully. See how you play with your old linemate for this period.”
And there it was. Sully tamped down his frustration and gulped his sports drink. He’d been off all night, and of course the coaching staff would move around the lines. That’s what these games were all about: finding the best way for the team to gel.
“Just like old times, Hartless,” Jake said with a laugh.
“It’s Harty, ass,” Harty shot back at his friend before his eyes met Sully’s.
Sully smiled and gave Harty a small nod. What the hell else was he supposed to do?
As they headed back to the ice and Harty made his way to the faceoff dot to start the final period, Sully couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the season was going to go.
His expiration date never felt so real.
That was a bit over the top, and he should be used to coming in second. Not that he’d ever been happy with that, which is why he’d busted his ass to get to this point.
He’d have to get it in gear for the final period.
And thirty minutes later, he had his shot.
The echo of the pipes rang in his ears again, but Westie caught the rebound and shot it between the goalie’s legs. At least Sully ended the game with an assist.
Now he just had to figure out what the hell was going on with his head and how to fix it immediately.
Chapter 4
“Sara, the guys are here, so get ready,” Adam shouted back into the kitchen. Normally, she was shutting down around this time, but when the Strikers had a game, she kept the kitchen open late because a bunch of the guys—if not the entire team—would show up after a game for a quick dinner and a beer. It was another one of their traditions that Sara was happy to support. And since the guys raved about her food, that ego boost was welcome.
“On it,” she said as Eddie, her sous chef, hand cut a mound of sweet potatoes into fries. The guys stayed relatively healthy, but they wanted fries with their burgers, so she always had sweet potatoes ready.
The orders came rolling in, and her staff went to work, churning out burgers, steaks, and chicken, along with grilled veggies and seasoned rice. Over the years she’d tweaked many of her recipes to reduce the fat and boost the protein for the guys. She’d read a ridiculous stat that a hockey player could lose five pounds or more after one game. After she’d read that, she’d considered increasing the dessert options on the menu and sending out a treat with every dinner.
Eventually, the tickets slowed and the last order was delivered. She wiped her hands on her apron and smoothed back a strand of limp hair that had come loose from her braid.
Adam ducked his head in and asked, “You coming out here?”
She laughed. “Of course. Is the entire team here? Based on those food slips, I’m going with yes.”
“You mean is Sully here?” Adam wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“You are a horrible person, and I have no idea what you are talking about,” she shot back, ignoring his grin.
“Just get out here.”
She checked in with her staff; they were finishing up final orders and cleaning up their stations. She touched her hair again, hoping she didn’t look like a mess, and grabbed a clean towel to pat down her warm cheeks as she pushed through the swinging door. Adam passed her a ginger ale, and she greeted the guys with a quick hello and congrats on winning.
“There she is,” Baz called out, sliding between two occupied barstools, and because he wasn’t a petite guy, he playfully shoved his teammates who were seated on said stools.
“Great game tonight, Baz.”
He puffed out his chest, and she laughed. “They couldn’t do it without me.”
“Did you get a point tonight? I was busy in the kitchen, so I only saw snippets of the game on my TV in there.” Including Sully hitting the pipe twice and the frustration clear on his face each time.
“You wound me, Sara,” Baz cried as his teammates laughed.
“Hi, we haven’t met yet,” a guy said, sliding onto an empty barstool. He held out his hand. “I’m Jake. Just traded to the Strikers.”
Holy crap, he was hot. Like Alexander Skarsgard hot. His blond hair was lighter than hers, and his icy blue eyes were filled with mischief.
“Hi. Sara,” she said as he enveloped her hand.
Dammit. No spark, not even a lukewarm tingle when he touched her. And he looked like a lot of fun. Hadn’t Callie said she’d needed some fun?
“The food was amazing,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“I’m a terrible cook. Maybe you could give me some lessons,” he said innocently.
She didn’t buy his act for a second, especially when he flashed her a grin after quickly glancing down at her ring-free hand.
“Wow, you just go for it, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’m honest.”
She laughed. “I can’t just let anyone in my kitchen.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“That is a lie, Sara. He’s never been on his best behavior,” Harty said, wincing when Jake not so subtly elbowed him in the ribs. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Jake muttered cockblock while he did it.
“Ignore him,” Jake said before he plastered a wide smile on his face, a dimple peeking out.
Still, she felt nothing. Man, she was in trouble, and it wasn’t going to be with Jake. But she played along with his flirting. She missed flirting, especially when it was completely harmless.
“Can I get another one?” Sully’s voice broke through her laughter at something else Jake had said, and she looked down the length of the bar.
Sully was sitting in the corner. And he was glowering. She sucked in a breath. How had she missed him? Not that she’d looked too hard, because she hated the different emotions that rolled through her when they were in the same room. She was tired of the conflicting emotions, and she wished her brain would decide what direction it wanted to go in.
Of course, the problem was that her brain wanted one thing—common sense—and her heart and her body wanted something else.
“Hi, Sully,” a voice called out, and it took her a minute to realize it’d been hers.
Why?
He looked startled for a second before he grumbled out a hello and focused on the pint glass Adam had put in front of him. What the hell had crawled up his ass? Instead of thinking up an answer, she turned back to Jake. He picked up flirting without missing a beat. He was sex and trouble on a stick, and it would never go any further than this.
But as the minutes rolled by, she couldn’t stop herself from looking over at Sully’s tight smile and narrowed eyes. He’d catch her gaze and quickly drop it. She’d swear he was jealous, but why? They’d had one night together, and they’d agreed it was best forgotten. She was beginning to believe that had just been her imagination, but why would he continue to hook up with other women if he cared about her at all?
After that night, she’d tried to go back to normal with him, but the flirting and banter had been awkward, and eventually, it faded away. It was something she had no business missing.
But maybe Callie was right. Maybe there was something more there.
She smiled at Jake and gave the guys an excuse that she had to get back to the kitchen, and turned around, walking back into her sanctuary. She could focus on cleaning up and not dwell on Sully or what was happening on the other side of that swinging kitchen door.
She couldn’t keep ignoring that night. But part of her—the part she shouldn’t be listening to—didn’t want to forget it.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Yes, she wanted Sully. She’d wanted him since he’d walked into the bar five years ago to reconnect with his old teammate. He hadn’t been rocking his full beard, so he’d flashed her his dimpled smile, and she was instantly hooked. But she told herself to steer clear. He was an athlete, and she had a history. His flirting had been so over the top that all she could do was laugh and play along.
Much like she had with Jake tonight. But with Sully, it’d been different.
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t blame giving into Sully that night on being lonely in her own home. Or on alcohol. It’d helped, but she hadn’t been that drunk.
But that didn’t mean it was a good idea to repeat that night, no matter how vivid her memories were, or how he made her entire body tingle with a quick look. No. She needed to be a grown up and stop avoiding him.
After taking one last look around her kitchen, she headed back into the bar. Her gaze immediately went to the corner barstool.
It was now empty.
She would not ask where he’d gone or if he’d left with anyone. He’d be back soon, and she was determined to ignore the heat in her body and work on them being friends again. They’d started out that way.
Sully boosted the speed on the treadmill the next morning at the gym in his condo building. He had an appointment with his trainer in an hour, so he was going to get in a quick run before he headed over there. It was better to be warmed up before Marcus got his hands on him.
Their second preseason game was an away game tomorrow night, and he wasn’t scheduled to play, but he did have on-ice practice this afternoon, so he only had a short training session scheduled with Marcus. He’d be tired as hell by the end of the day, but he had to get his game as strong as possible. That’s what being a hockey player was all about, and as one of the older guys, that meant working out smarter and harder.
“Hey, Sully,” Harty called out as he and Jake walked into the workout room.
“Hey, guys,” he said, bumping up his incline, his breathing slightly rattled.
“Hey, neighbor,” Jake said with a laugh.
The guy had moved into one of the open units a floor below Sully. This place was turning into the Strikers’ home away from home. They were up to five or six teammates in the building. Sully was losing count.
Not that he could fault anyone for picking this complex. The amenities were great, as was the security. The last thing they needed was uninvited puck bunnies knocking on their doors. Well, most of the guys didn’t want that. He wasn’t so sure about Jake.
They briefly talked about the game last night as Harty jumped on the treadmill next to Sully and Jake got on one of the bikes.
“Awesome goals last night,” Sully said.
“Yeah. Harty and I were on the same line for years; guess it comes back, like riding a bicycle,” Jake said with a laugh.
“Yeah, you guys were linemates for how many years?” Sully asked.
“Three. Maybe four, I think,” Harty said.
“And we’re back together again. Just like old times.”
“Uh, not exactly like old times.”
“Right, because Penny controls you now. Should’ve seen that coming in Italy. Oh wait, I did,” Jake said.
“Don’t be a dick. Penny’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and you heard what Bugsy said. Best behavior. No more off-ice antics, Jake.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But we had some fun, didn’t we?”
Harty laughed and nodded in agreement.
“I can be good if I have to. It’s not that hard to toe the line,” Jake said. “Maybe I just have to find the right girl and hand over my balls like you did.”
Sully couldn’t stop his own bark of laughter. Penny was amazing, and he was happy for his friend and teammate, but Harty had been whipped as soon as Penny had walked back into his life last year.
