For Crosby Page 3

  “Yeah. I totally want you,” I said to Grady as I rolled my eyes at the girl stepping up beside me to wash her hands. “I just like the chase. And I want you to keep using lame lines on me. It’s totally hot.”

  “Whoa. Easy,” he said. “They’re not lame. Lines like mine take weeks to perfect.”

  The girl laughed as she dried her hands and walked toward the door. “Good luck with that one.”

  “Is there someone else there?” Grady asked. “You having one of those sexy pillow-fight slumber parties? I’d be happy to stop by and provide entertainment.”

  “Why is it that guys think we actually have pillow fights?”

  “It’s the visual, babe. It carries us through those lonely nights.”

  “So, every night for you?”

  “Pretty much,” he agreed.

  I snickered. “So, is there a reason for this call or are you just trying to torture me?”

  “I talked to my uncle,” he said, his voice becoming serious.

  I switched the phone off speaker and lifted it to my ear. “Okay.”

  “Knowing what he knows about Dean Edwards, he said he thinks the dean’s less likely to be threatening you and more likely to be trying to come down hard on hazing.”

  “That’s what he said in his office.”

  “Well, apparently, he’s up for re-election and doesn’t want any bad press getting in the way.”

  “So, does this mean you know why he called me in?” I said.

  “Everybody knows.”

  “Great,” I mumbled.

  “My uncle said he doubts he’ll call you back in, but if he does, call me and I’ll let my uncle know. He said do not speak to him without someone there with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry,” Grady said. “He thinks the dean’s covering his own ass. He’s as eager to eliminate damaging publicity from the school as you are to stay out of it.”

  As much as I wanted to believe that, I couldn’t forget the disgust in the dean’s words or the look in his eyes when he called me out for leaving Mr. Hockey alone out there.

  On the way back to my room, I received a text from Jeremy. “His practice ran long,” I announced to Finlay as I stepped back into our room. “He wants me to meet him at the rink.”

  “Hey, at least he called,” Finlay said, her laptop in front of her as she sprawled out on the floor typing a paper. “The guys on the football team have to run laps if they’re caught with their phones anywhere near the field. He must’ve snuck away to contact you.”

  I walked over to the mirror and checked my face again. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Hey.”

  I glanced at her through the mirror.

  “Don’t sabotage this before it even begins,” she said, sounding like a concerned mama bear.

  “Sabotage would indicate premeditation.”

  She tilted her head. “For the past year and a half, I’ve watched you blow off guys who were interested while you gave your attention to the ones who weren’t available.” She coughed. “Trace Forester.”

  I turned from the mirror and glared at her. “I never had a thing for Forester.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Riiiiight.”

  “Fine. I agree he’s hot. But totally corny.”

  “Don’t tell him that.”

  “Too late.”

  Her shoulders shook with laughter.

  “Well, no need to worry.” I grabbed my fitted leather jacket from the closet and walked to the door. “I plan on giving Jeremy a chance. Now how do I look?”

  Finlay’s eyes drifted over my skinny jeans and low-cut black top with chunky turquoise necklace. “Hot.”

  “Obviously.” I laughed before turning and heading out.

  I arrived at the rink after a short walk and tugged on the front door. It was locked. I glanced around. If not for the cars in the dimly lit parking lot, I would’ve thought I’d been set up. The campus was quiet. No one walked around. That was the crazy thing about a huge campus. It could change from chaotic during the day to deserted at night. I preferred the solace to the chaos any day.

  The creaking of the arena door behind me had me spinning around.

  An older man stood with the door cracked open. “Can I help ya?”

  “I’m meeting one of the players here.”

  “The boys are still on the ice. Coach is running their butts into it tonight.” He waved me inside. “No use waiting out there. Come take a seat inside.”

  Inside, whistles echoed and blades scraped the ice. Heavily padded guys raced across the slick surface. I took a seat in the front corner of the arena, trying to remain out of sight. The man hadn’t said it was a closed practice, but the locked door indicated otherwise.

  “Faster,” the coach bellowed from the center of the ice as the players skated in what looked like suicides from one side of the rink to the other.

  I searched for Jeremy, but had no clue what number he wore. Hockey wasn’t a sport I followed. It seemed exciting, but when you went to school in Alabama, you cheered on the football team.

  When the whistle blew again, the guys skated over to the bench and grabbed their water bottles. A few pulled off their helmets. Their cheeks were red and their sweat-drenched hair hung in their faces. Hockey was clearly more intense than I gave it credit for. My eyes snagged on the inky black hair of my nemesis. His eyes were pinned on mine.

  I lifted my hand, as if to wave at him, but turned it instead, bending all but my middle finger.

  Mr. Hockey laughed. The bastard laughed.

  The coach blew his whistle again, and the guys skated back out onto the ice.

  Crosby

  “Oouff.” I shook off yet another hit and skated after the puck in our end-of-practice scrimmage. I was determined like hell to show the amateurs on the team, and the Ice Queen who sat in the seats, what a real hockey player looked like. Forget my opponents, if I was gonna get the shit beat out of me on the ice by my own teammates, I was gonna make damn sure they looked like they weren’t fit to clean my skates.

  I’d been the top scorer on my team in Texas for the past three years. Pro scouts had been talking to my coaches. And, I’d just been named captain.

  Then shit hit the fan and I ended up in Alabama.

  Now my teammates back home—my brothers—wanted nothing to do with me, feeling like I abandoned them when we had a shot at the championship. I didn’t blame them for feeling that way, but I did blame them for deserting me and not having my back when I needed friends more than ever. Of course, some of them had reason to want nothing to do with me. My father had chummed it up with their parents, persuading them to invest with him. We all know how that turned out.

  Somehow my new teammates caught wind of my successes on the ice. They also knew I already had one foot out the door, planning to enter the pro draft after this season. And they hated me for it.

  I couldn’t help that I was skilled. I should’ve gone pro this year, but I’d promised my mom, after everything she’d been through, that I’d graduate before entering the draft. And since that’s all she had to hang on to, I needed to stay true to my words.

  But I had news for my new teammates. Their jealousy and quest to make my transition to the team difficult were not standing in the way of me getting drafted. I would take what they dished and stay the fuck off the dean’s radar.

  All I needed to do was graduate. Then I could leave Alabama and everyone in it behind.

  “I like what I’ve been seeing out there,” Coach said as we formed a circle around him at the end of practice. “I have no idea where this newfound intensity’s coming from, but I like it.”

  Half the team’s eyes suddenly avoided Coach’s. I should’ve turned around and shown him the big bullseye on my back.

  “Just remember,” Coach continued. “You guys are on the same team. You can practice with intensity, but I don’t want anyone hurt, especially before next week’s game. Go hit the showers.” He looked to me. “Crosby. I wanna speak with you.”

  The others filed off the ice. More than one shot me a glare.

  Assholes.

  Once Coach and I were alone, he pegged me with his eyes. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, you’re fine with your teammates resenting your skills?”

  “Didn’t realize they felt that way.”

  He cocked his head, not buying the blatant lie. Even though I hadn’t ratted out the team for the tree stunt, everyone—even Coach—assumed it had been my teammates. “I know things have been tough for you. And if you’re feeling like they’re not treating you like one of their own, you need to let me know.”

  “I’m twenty-one. Not five.”

  He nodded. “I get that. But I don’t want anything outside the game affecting you. You’ve stayed consistent on the ice despite everything that happened in Texas. I don’t want guys, who aren’t playing this game as a potential career, hurting your chances at the pros.”

  I shrugged, though I doubted he could tell with my pads on.

  “I’m serious, Crosby. Make it through this season playing like you have been, and the draft is within your grasp.”

  Sabrina

  I checked my watch. Jeremy knew I was there, gesturing to me to wait as he hurried into the locker room.

  I watched as Mr. Hockey spoke to the coach. Was he being reprimanded for having a poor attitude or something else? Because the post-practice lecture couldn’t be about his skills on the ice. Given his fluid movements out there and the ease in which he handled a stick, the guy could seriously play—despite the hard hits he took from his teammates.

  The coach stepped away from him and gathered some things from the bench. Mr. Hockey’s eyes found mine once again, and he skated to
ward me.

  I swallowed down my surprise as I stood, pretending not to notice him skating my way.

  His body was big, but he moved with such grace and agility, as if skating was as normal as walking for him. He pushed open the door of the rink wall. “You stalking me now?”

  I crossed my arms and cocked my head, wishing the idiot would’ve forgotten we’d ever met. “I’m not here for you.”

  Even with his helmet on I could see his arched brow. “Oh no?”

  I stood tight-lipped. I didn’t owe him anything.

  “Don’t tell me you’re dating one of these guys.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  His face sobered and, strangely, anger brimmed in his eyes. “Who?”

  “None of your business.”

  His head jolted back. “You don’t think I can find out?”

  “I don’t care if you do. I’m just not telling you.”

  “What, are you in first grade?”

  I glared into his eyes, hoping he could see the hatred I felt toward him.

  “Well, enjoy yourself with the mystery prick.”

  “Who said he’s a prick?”

  “They all are.” He turned and skated back down the ice, nabbing a puck from the side with his stick. He skated around the perimeter of the rink, moving the puck around before firing it at the net.

  I checked my phone. It was already seven thirty. I wondered where Jeremy and I would go. I knew nothing about him, so I had no idea what he had planned. Dinner. A movie.

  “So, let me guess, you’re banging Potter.”

  I glanced up. Mr. Hockey stood in front of me again, his dark hair falling into his eyes now that he’d removed his helmet and held it in his hand. “I’m not banging anyone.”

  “But that’s who you’re going out with, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  His eyes narrowed. “When did he ask you out?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “It just does.”

  “Yesterday. Happy?”

  “You always make yourself available that easily?”

  My teeth ground together. “I don’t like your implication.”

  He shrugged. “The guy’s a prick.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  He chuckled, and the sound pissed me off more than if he had called me a bitch again. “So, the ice queen has a sense of humor.”

  My eyes widened as my arms dropped down to my sides. “Ice queen? Ever think it’s you? Ever think that maybe every word out of your mouth makes my skin crawl?”

  His lips slipped into a cocky grin. “So, you’re saying I affect you?”

  I growled as my hands bunched into fists. This guy had serious split personality issues. Even still, no one made me as angry—or as capable of growling—as him. “Apparently, you only hear what you want to hear. Do you take meds for that?”

  A sober laugh slipped from his lips. “Have fun with your date. I wouldn’t let him get in your panties if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course I don’t know what you mean. I don’t speak idiot.”

  He stifled a smile. “Just saying I saw the prescription cream he’s got in his bag. Wouldn’t want you catching anything.”

  “Well, that’s where you and I are different. I’d love for you to catch something.”

  He tsked. “Careful. I might mistake this anger for sexual tension.”

  I scoffed. “You’re insane.”

  “I’m not the one going out with a prick.”

  I huffed, his annoying taunts working my last nerve.

  “You ever wonder why he asked you out?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Why, out of all the girls on campus, he asked you out?”

  “Because I’m amazing?”

  He snickered, and I suddenly wanted to punch him in the face and chip his other tooth. “Interesting timing don’t you think?”

  “We sit next to each other in Communications.”

  “Exactly. Why hasn’t he asked you out before now?”

  “Do you make a habit of losing people because you seriously make no sense to me at all.”

  “Hey,” Jeremy called.

  Mr. Hockey and I both turned.

  Jeremy stood on the platform to my right all showered and dressed. I hadn’t even heard him approach. “You okay?”

  I crossed my arms as if I needed them to protect me from the craziness around me. “Fine.”

  “Yes. She. Is.” Mr. Hockey said, annunciating each word as his eyes drifted up my body.

  Jeremy and I both glared at him.

  He remained unfazed. “Have fun tonight you crazy kids. Remember what I said, Ice Queen.”

  Jeremy looked to me as Mr. Hockey skated away in no particular hurry. “You know him?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, take it from me, the guy’s a total douche.”

  I laughed, and the tension from my exchange with Mr. Hockey lifted slightly by the assurance in Jeremy’s words.

  * * *

  I twirled my spaghetti around my fork as I listened to Jeremy speak about growing up in Alabama. Our conversation flowed so easily. I felt myself drawn in by his adorable southern accent, the slow drawl making me hang on every syllable.

  “So, what made a boy from Alabama play hockey?”

  “Are you kidding? The fights.”

  I laughed before taking a bite of my pasta.

  He sipped his tall glass of beer, having already finished his meal. “How about you? You play any sports?”

  I shook my head. “I may be a total daddy’s girl, but he never could get me to play anything for more than a season. I cheered. That’s where I gained my love for football. That and the hot guys.”

  He laughed. “We hockey players aren’t so bad.”

  I nodded. “I’m starting to see that.”

  He looked away, almost sheepishly, and I liked knowing I affected him.

  “So, what’s the deal with Mr. Hockey?” I asked.

  His eyes shot back to mine. “Mr. Hockey?”

  “Yeah. Douchebag who got himself tied to a tree.”

  Laughter burst out of him. “You call him Mr. Hockey?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know his name.”

  “You don’t know who he is?”

  I lifted my glass to my lips and sipped my water. “I just said that.”

  “His name’s Crosby. Something happened at his last school that got him shipped here.”

  I placed down my glass curious about what Crosby had done to get himself shipped off to Alabama mid-semester. Had he slept with the dean’s daughter? Hazed a freshman? Fought his coach? He’d told me he transferred, but after that night, I hadn’t given it another thought. “What happened?”

  Jeremy shrugged, but something flashed across his eyes that told me he knew more than he was saying.

  “I heard he stole your captain’s position.”

  “He didn’t steal my position,” Jeremy said, a sudden coolness in his voice.

  Whoops. “I didn’t know you were the captain.”

  “I am the captain. No one’s taking that from me.”

  Whoa boy. “That’s not why you guys tied him to a tree?”

  His brows pinched in the middle. “Who said we tied him to a tree?”

  I looked for a shred of guilt—or coyness for that matter—behind his eyes. But either he was a great actor or he really had nothing to do with it because I found nothing. “I just got the feeling it was some type of initiation thing.”

  “The guy’s a jackass. Don’t feel sorry for him.”

  I grabbed a slice of Italian bread and tore a small piece from it. “For what it’s worth, he seems to hate being here as much as you hate having him on your team.” I popped the piece of bread into my mouth.

  He scoffed.

  “And whether or not you did tie him up, those knots were freaking tight.”

  Jeremy laughed. “Oh, that’s right. I think I heard you were the one who found him.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “He didn’t say who did it?” he asked, his eyes hyper-focused on mine.

  I took my last bite of pasta before shaking my head.

  “I hear the dean’s looking to punish whoever did it,” he said.

  I shrugged. If I didn’t rat out the hockey team to the dean, I wasn’t about to say anything to Jeremy. What good would it do? He clearly had something to do with it. He wouldn’t have been so eager to hear my side if he hadn’t.

  “Did the dean call you in?” he persisted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Geez.” I could see in his jumpy eyes that he wasn’t finished with his questions. “So, what’d you tell him?”