Him (Him #1)(3)

When did Canning get the starting job back? I ain’t gonna lie—I used to keep tabs on the guy. But I stopped once it started to feel like borderline stalking. I mean, there’s no way he was keeping tabs on me, not after I torpedoed our friendship like an *.

The memory of my selfish actions is like a fist to the gut. Fuck. I’d been a terrible friend to him. A terrible person. It was so much easier to deal with the shame when Canning was thousands of miles away, but now…

Dread crawls up my throat. I’m going to see him in Boston during the tournament. I’ll probably even face off against him.

It’s been nearly four years since I’ve seen or spoken to the guy. What the hell will I even say to him? How do you apologize to someone for cutting them out of your life without so much as an explanation?

“His game is flawless,” Coach is saying.

No, not flawless. He retreats too quickly—that was always a problem for him, scrambling back to the net when a shooter approached the blue line, giving them a better angle to shoot from. And he was always too pad-reliant, creating easy rebound opportunities for the offense.

I have to bite my lip to keep from offering the information. It feels…wrong, I guess. Telling my teammates about Canning’s weaknesses. I should, though. I really should, because this is the Frozen f*cking Four at stake here.

Then again, it’s been years since I was on the ice with Canning. He could have tightened up his game since then. He might not even have those particular weaknesses anymore.

I, on the other hand, do. I have the same damn weakness I’ve always had. It’s still there as I stare up at the big screen. As I watch Jamie Canning stop another dizzying slap shot. As I admire the grace and deadly precision with which he moves.

My weakness is him.





2





Jamie





“You’re awfully quiet this morning, even for you.” Holly’s fingers drift down my back, ending their journey on my bare ass. “Thinking deep thoughts about the Frozen Four?”

“Yeah.” And it isn’t exactly a lie. I can guarantee that Friday’s trip to Boston is in the forefront of two dozen other players’ minds this morning. And about a zillion fans’.

I have more than winning on my mind, though. Now that we were actually headed for the championship, it was time to come to terms with the idea that we might face Northern Mass. The star player of their team? None other than Ryan Wesley, my ex-best-friend.

“What is it, sweetie?” Holly props herself up on an elbow to study me. She doesn’t usually stay over, but last night’s sex marathon had lasted until four a.m., and I would’ve felt like an ass hustling her into a cab that late.

I’m not sure how I feel about having her curled up in bed beside me, though. Spectacular morning sex aside, her presence makes me uneasy. I’ve never lied to Holly about what this is—and what it isn’t. But I’ve had enough experience with chicks to know that when they agree to a friends-with-benefits arrangement, a part of them hopes one of those benefits will somehow be landing a boyfriend out of the deal.

“Jamie?” she prompts.

I push aside one set of troubling thoughts and replace them with another. “Have you ever been fired by a friend?” I hear myself ask.

“What? Like…someone you worked for?” She has wide blue eyes, which always take me seriously.

I shake my head. “No. The leading scorer on Northern Mass was my best friend in high school. And junior high, too. You know that hockey camp where I work in the summer?”

“Elites?” She nods.

“Yeah, good memory. Before I was a coach there, I was a camper. So was Wes. He was crazy.” I chuckle to myself just picturing his scruffy face. “The dude would do anything. There’s this toboggan chute in the center of town—in the winter you can sled down onto the frozen lake. But in the summer it’s closed, with a twelve-foot fence around it. He’s like, ‘Dude, after lights out we’re climbing that thing.’”

Holly massages my chest with one of her soft hands. “Did you?”

“Naturally. I was sure we were going to get busted and thrown out of camp. But nobody caught us. Wes was the only one smart enough to bring a towel to slide on, though. So I had burns on the backs of my thighs from sliding down that f*cker.”

Holly grins.

“And I still wonder how many tourists had to delete the pictures they took of Mirror Lake. Whenever Wes saw a tourist lining up a shot, he would always drop his pants.”

Her grin turns into a giggle. “He sounds like fun.”

“He was. And then he wasn’t.”

“What happened?”

I fold my hands behind my head, trying to appear casual despite the wave of discomfort sliding down my spine. “I don’t know. We were always competitive. Our last summer he challenged me to a contest...” I stop, because I never tell Holly the really personal stuff. “I don’t know what happened, exactly. He just cut off contact with me after that summer. He stopped responding to my texts. He just…fired me.”

She kisses my neck. “Sounds like you’re still mad.”

“I am,” I surprise myself by saying.

If you’d asked me yesterday whether there was anything in my past that bothered me, I would have said no. But now that Ryan Wesley has parked his nutty ass back in my consciousness, I’m all churned up again. Goddamn him. I really don’t need this going into the toughest two games of my life.