Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(28)

This kiss wasn't as rushed, and I was able to feel her soft skin and mouth melting with mine, consuming me. Slowly, we let the kiss develop, never rushed as it deepened. I didn't push or use my hands; I just increased the pressure letting her know I wanted it.

My tongue traced along her bottom lip, asking, and she gladly let me. I'd like to say I remembered the kiss, but I was more caught up in the fact that I was kissing her than how it felt.

Eventually I pulled back, wondering if she was going to slap the shit out of me, but then she smiled instead of knocking me out. That was cool. I could work with that.

"That's an interesting way of saying hello." Her smile, God, that f*cking smile, made me want to kiss her again.

"Sorry," I said, taking a seat next to the bed, afraid I actually would kiss her.

"It's okay." She seemed to fidget for a moment and then took to her bed again. "I didn't say it was bad. It was cool, just interesting."



Game 60 – Atlanta Thrashers

Saturday, February 13, 2010

(Home Game)



Times like this were my favorite to practice. I didn't mind the practices when fans watched, but empty ice was my favorite. It cleared my head.

I'd set the music to whatever I wanted, mostly Filter on mornings like this, but it varied.

The boys weren't here yet, so it left me some time to just skate and play the puck. I wasn't forced into drills and repetition of different shots. I could just skate and clear my head.

That was when Ami would come into mind.

If I closed my eyes, I could see her and picture that kiss and those pretty f*cking starry eyes.

Fuck. Stop thinking about her.

I'd set an easy pace around the ice, building speed as I rounded the corner and then snagged a puck. I brought it to the end of my stick and balanced it there before juggling it and slapping it into the net like a baseball player would.

Then I thought of Ami again.

Damn it.

Thankfully, the guys made their way on the ice and our morning practice started.

Pushing pucks around, we slapped them at the net. Fans were there this morning watching. A young girl, maybe twelve, stood next to the glass trying to take a picture of Leo so I stuck my stick in the way.

She glared and then looked toward me, a leveling glare that gave way to a smile. Flushed cheeks appeared, so I smiled in return and hit the glass with my shoulder and skated away knowing that simple interaction made that girl's day.

"Jail bait," Remy chirped when I passed by and then made a siren sound.

"How are you and the ballerina doin'?" Dave asked, taking a shot at Leo with his stick when he came by.

"She's getting released soon," I said, circling a puck and then flipping it up onto my stick. "So I guess that's good."

"Does she remember?" he asked, watching Remy and Cage shove each other and then Leo getting in the middle of it.

"No. Nothing from that night."

"Glad she's getting better, man. We were all pulling for her." He gave me a wink and then Leo came back by, and Dave took off to send him flying into the boards.

Same shit, different day.

Dave had always been the guy on the team that made sure the guys were okay. If you were sick or running behind on the ice, he'd sit you down and ask what the problem was. He was always sort of the team psychologist. All of us felt comfortable going to him and talking about anything. Me included. After that night with Ami all the guys knew something was up with me. My attitude had changed on and off the ice.

That game against Atlanta was intense, mostly because Leo was getting into every other play with Atlanta's center.

That was when Joel gave a low hit on Leo and knocked him down hard into the boards.

Leo immediately jumped to his feet and chased after him. Apparently, he wasn't having any of it and shoved Sadler against the board, giving him a few words. Leo was smaller than me and most defensemen. He was your average size for any center, but he could give it when needed. That night he gave it.

I'd never gotten along with Joel Sadler. We played in the Major Juniors together.

If you were to ask the coaches back then, and people frequently did, they'd say we were at each other's throats most of the time. I didn't know if that was true, but we did have our fair share of time in the penalty box.

Joel took another cheap shot at Leo on the face off and popped him in the mouth with his stick when the ref returned.

Chewing on my mouth guard, racking up minutes in the box, a girl tapped on the glass. I gave her a nod but not much else. My attention was on the ice and how I was going to let Joel know that even though he'd gotten away with it this time, he wasn't going to soon.

Bottom line was, if someone picked on our boys, like they were doing that night, I'd lay them out. Funny enough, I started out playing goalie and then moved to right wing. When the coaches saw how much I defended the other players, they moved me to defense. With that came the fighting.

Some thought I loved to fight. And I wouldn't necessarily disagree with them, but I wasn't doing it just to fight.

Did I like fighting?

Not really, but I was good at it, and that was how I got to be a defenseman.

A few things cause a hockey player to drop his gloves and dance: retaliation or retribution. For example, a guy checks up from behind and skates away. Then as you're making your shift change, he whacks you on the back of the legs. This warrants dropping the gloves the next time you meet on the ice. Provoking some players would challenge the other team for the sole purpose of winning. It was all about gaining the mental edge in hockey. A good scrape swung your way could do that, and it got the whole venue on their feet.