Misadventures of a Rookie (Misadventures #11)(2)

The lamp went off, and I couldn’t help but let out a cry of victory as I threw my hands up. Soon the boys were all around, hugging me tightly.

“Atta boy!” Minski yelled.

I smiled, tapping his helmet.

“Let’s get this,” I yelled back, the roar of the crowd overwhelming.

I will never get over this. The pure adrenaline that only a crowd can give me. The thrill here was awesome, but still I yearned to play in the NHL. I wanted to be a Tornado. I wanted to play in their arena—the sound effects were fucking intense when a goal was scored. I wanted to play against the teams I had grown up pretending to play against. I wanted to score on the greats. I wanted to slam the same greats into the wall. I wanted—no, I needed—to get there.

And I would.

Gus Persson would fucking make his dreams come true.

I had no doubt about that.

But even after the high of scoring a goal that put us up by three and knowing I was going places, I couldn’t shake what Max had said earlier.

Skating beside my buddy, I tried to get back to our earlier conversation. “Why shouldn’t I take a shot? She’s hot.”

Max lifted his brows as he climbed over the boards, and then he scoffed and nodded his head. “Oh, the redhead?”

“Yeah. You said I should stay away from her.”

Max rolled his eyes. “I said if I were you I’d stay away. That girl didn’t struggle at all with the shovel. All the other girls do. That thing isn’t light. But your little redheaded vixen? The one who glared at you the entire time she was cleaning the ice? She had no trouble. She could probably kill you.” He looked over at me, laughed, and shook his head. “But you give no fucks and are going to go after her.”

I nodded. “Yup. No one says no to me.”

“She will.”

“No, she won’t. She’ll love me once I flash these pearly whites at her.” I flashed him a wide smile to show him what I meant.

Max laughed. “That she’ll know is faker than half the tits on this ice.”

I glared. “My teeth aren’t fake!”

He gave me a bemused smile. “And I’ve banged all the Kardashians. It’s me. I’m your homie. You don’t have to lie.”

“They aren’t!”

He scoffed. “Whatever you say. But take my advice: Stay away from her. I think she could break you.”

I looked over at the ice access door in the boards and grinned. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was there, probably glaring at me.

Why did that make me hard?

“Maybe I like living on the edge.”

Max laughed loudly as the whistle was blown. The coach called our defensive pairing. Climbing over the boards, Max said, “There is a difference between living on the edge and running straight for death. That girl is a one-way ticket to Heartbreakville. Or hell. I can’t decide. But can I also point out that it annoys me that you can fawn over a girl and still score?”

I laughed out loud as we lined up. “I can score with my eyes closed, Maxy.”

“I hate you,” he shot back just as the puck was dropped. “And she’ll be the only one to block you. I can feel it.”

I scoffed. “Well stop feeling things for me and just pay attention to how the game is played. Maybe then you can score.”

One of our forwards sent the puck back to me, and I sent it to Max, who shot right away but missed the goal. Raddi got it and tried to score, but his shot was deflected right back to him. He passed it back to Max, who held the puck for a bit while our forwards set up. I saw the tick in his jaw that usually meant he didn’t see another play, so when he sent it to me, I was ready.

I shot, and the puck went to the back of the net.

For the third time tonight.

Yes.

Throwing my hands up once more, I looked at Max as he skated toward me shaking his head.

“Show-off.”

He was right.

And I didn’t take offense at all.

I had been showing off my whole life, and I was ready to show Ms. Redhead all of my wonderful capabilities.

On and off the ice.





Chapter Two





Bo





Gus “the Bus” Persson was a showboating, entitled, rich fuck who got on my last nerve. His nickname? Please. Bus? He wasn’t a bus. He was just a meathead who ran into everyone! I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time as the fans went nuts, chanting his name and littering the ice with hats following his third goal.

Great. Not only did he ogle me with those sinfully gorgeous green eyes, but I had to clean up after his ass. As the door opened, the girls and I rushed to get the ice clean as fast as we could. In an arena with over fifteen thousand fans and sixty percent of them wearing hats, that wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. With each pile of hats I scooped up, I glared and cursed him as I watched him laughing and high-fiving his teammates.

Ugh, I hated the lot of them.

Especially the rookies. Grrr.

They were nothing but trouble. New players were all the same. They went around trying to prove something, fucking everything in their paths before leaving their bedmates in the dark. It was annoying, disgusting, and everything I hated about the sport of hockey. I used to be a fan—a huge fan, actually—when I lived in Minnesota. Not liking hockey wasn’t very Minnesotan. Cheering for every hockey team from local high schools up to the pros was a done deal. That was our duty. It was what we did, and I did it well.