Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2) Read online

  This is going to be fun.

  Campus is practically empty as I head for the rink for the first day of camp. There are a few summer programs the school runs, but it’s an eerie ghost town without the full student body present.

  Everybody else is going home or on vacations, and we’re going to be stuck inside the arena or weight room six days a week for the next seven weeks.

  I never thought that would be so appealing.

  I swipe my key card at the school arena and go straight to the locker room. I’m a few minutes late, and of course, Jacobs doesn’t let that fly.

  “Captains should be the first to arrive and last to leave.” He’s clearly reshaved the sides of his head right before camp, leaving his trademark length on top. Between that and his attitude, I swear nothing ever changes with this guy.

  “Thanks for the tip. I’ll remember that for when I’m captain next season.”

  The rest of the guys let out hollers and “Ooohs.”

  We have a twenty-five-man roster, but only twelve of us stay to help out over the summer. We take the high school kids through training drills and help build their skills while the coaches scout for who looks like a promising future mountain lion.

  I go to my usual cubby and start to undress so I can suit up.

  I’m surprised Jacobs doesn’t have a retort. He might not, but Cohen does.

  He’s next to me, and he steps close while he takes his shirt off.

  “Personal space, much?”

  “Just so you know, I’m team Jacobs.”

  “I’m team Edward.”

  Cohen rolls his eyes. “Twilight references? Really?”

  “I have a sister.”

  “Mmhmm, sure.”

  “You got a point, Cohen?”

  “Yeah. Even though my vote is gonna be for him, I thought I’d give you a heads-up. He’s already campaigning for it. If he gets every vote from the summer camp guys, he’ll win majority easy once the semester starts. You might want to pull your weight.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Do you even want it?”

  I lose my amusement in this conversation. “I would’ve turned it down if I didn’t want it.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to work for it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I’m not afraid of hard work, but considering this whole thing involves winning over my teammates—my friends—I’d say I won’t have to work as hard as Cohen thinks.

  Jacobs is driven and great at hockey, but he’s not exactly friendly. He hung off Grant for three years, popular by proximity, and now Grant’s graduated and moving on, Jacobs is on his own.

  If anyone can put on a smile and sway someone’s vote, it’s me.

  I reach for my practice jersey, but Cohen stops me.

  “We have to wear game uniform the first day. Coach likes us to be intimidating.”

  Of course he does.

  It’s all about the mind games when it comes to hockey.

  Once we’re all ready to go, we wait for the assistant coach to come get us to make an entrance.

  And yep, as soon as we hit the ice, all the kids’ eyes widen. All forty pairs. Out of all of them sitting there, a quarter will be given scholarships to wear a mountain lion’s jersey in a year’s time. The odds aren’t good, but even being accepted into this camp is an accomplishment. I never came to one here at CU. My parents sent me to the most expensive private hockey camps money could buy. These guys got here on talent.

  The kids are sitting in the team boxes, and I know they’re all around sixteen and seventeen years old, but they look like babies. It’s hard to believe I was their age only four years ago.

  Time is moving way too fast.

  “Meet your mentors for the summer,” Coach says. “These are the guys you have to impress. They report to us. But rest assured, we’re also watching.” Coach blows his whistle and turns to us. “Show ’em what you’ve got, boys. Scrimmage.”

  The team splits into two lines. Schofield, our backup goalie from last season who’ll be number one this year, joins my line. The others kind of hesitate before deciding between my side and Jacobs’s, who only has Cohen.

  Jacobs’s scowl is hard and directed at me. How original for him. “Martin, Hansen, and Rossi, you go to Beck’s side. He’ll need some actual scorers over there.”

  The guys snicker and come over to me.

  I try not to laugh because for a D-man, I have a high scoring record. Nowhere near as high as Jacobs’s, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m not just a bruiser on the ice. I help set up plays and get the puck in our zone.

  Rossi takes center and skates up to face off with Greer.

  I happen to be opposite Jacobs. Total accident, I swear.

  We show the kids we’re “mentoring” this summer what it’s like to play college hockey, and coming off our Frozen Four win, we go all out to show off what we can do.

  I’m bigger and wider than most other hockey players, and I know how to hit hard. When Jacobs is open and right in my way, I don’t hesitate to flatten him against the boards and steal the puck.

  I get my boys over the blue line, and they take care of putting it past Simms, who’s attempting to protect the goal when he’s a sophomore forward.

  When I glance over at Jacobs, his face is red, and he looks ready to pummel me to the ice.

  What does it say about me that I think that sounds fun too?

  I’m so used to being liked by everyone and being easy to get along with that I find his contempt fascinating. I have no idea what I ever did to him, but whatever it was, I’m not even sorry.

  Because … I weirdly like it.

  I should probably see a shrink about that, but instead, I’m going to spend the next seven weeks pushing his buttons.

  I skate past him and give him a mock salute.

  His murder face is back.

  So. Much. Fun.

  The first day is more grueling than I thought it would be. By the time we’re told to hit the showers, I’m ready for a drink. Or a fuck.

  The camp teenagers are experiencing dorm life for the first time in their short existence. No adults. No supervision. And apparently, it’s our responsibility to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.

  Correction, it’s our underage teammates’ responsibility while the rest of us hit up a bar.

  McIntyre’s is a favorite of the team’s because it’s within walking distance of campus.

  When we get inside, my gaze immediately finds Jacobs, who’s sitting at a booth with Grant’s boyfriend, Zach.

  Grant’s never kept his sexuality a huge secret—it was one of the first things I learned when I met him—but it wasn’t until this past year that he actually got himself a boyfriend and went public with it.

  His boyfriend is kind of … not the type of guy I’d thought Grant would go for. Zach’s not into sports, he’s academically inclined, and … okay, I’m trying to think of a less-insulting thing to call him than a nerd. But it’s what he is.

  I figured if Grant was ever going to settle down with anyone, it’d be a big masculine dude with muscles and as much ego as him. For a long while, I actually thought he and Jacobs had a thing going on. Not that I’ve given Grant’s love life much thought.

  Grant’s at the bar, and I slap his back as I approach.

  “What’s up, man? When do you leave?”

  He turns to me with a wide smile. “Next week. Zach and I are driving up and spending the summer getting acquainted with the city.”

  Lucky fucker managed to score an NHL deal. He’s going to be playing hockey for a goddamn living, and I’m insanely jealous.

  That’s not in the cards for me.

  We grab drinks and make it back to the table where Grant slides in beside his boyfriend and puts his arm around Zach’s small shoulders.

  Jacobs scowls at me as I move in next to him and make room for Cohen and Rossi.

  “You know, I’ve heard smiling uses less muscles than scowling.
You should try it sometime.” To prove my point, I give an easy smile.

  “I’ve heard it’s easier to not be a dick. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  I laugh and sip my beer.

  Grant rolls his eyes. “What are you two going to do now I’m leaving? There’ll be no one to get in between your bickering.”

  “Why do you bicker?” Zach asks.

  I say, “I have no idea,” at the same time Jacobs says, “He’s a dick.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with my dick?” I taunt.

  Zach purses his lips. “Animosity like that between two people can be an indicator of sexual tension.”

  Grant leans toward his boyfriend. “He was joking, baby.”

  Realization dawns on Zach’s face. “Oh. Right. Smack talk. Go jocks!” He half-heartedly fist pumps the air.

  Grant kisses the side of his head.

  Something at the sight makes my gut warm, but I’m quick to dismiss it. Affection isn’t something I’ve ever received. Not from my parents and hardly from any of the girls I’ve dated. I’ve never felt the need to kiss someone’s head lovingly or wrap my arm around them possessively.

  But seeing Grant and his boyfriend makes me wonder if I’m missing out.

  “So, I hear you two are duking it out for captain,” Grant says.

  “Yep. Coach has left it up to the team to vote,” Jacobs says. “It’s bullshit. As if Mr. Party Favors over there isn’t gonna take it out if that’s the case.”

  Grant rubs his jaw, and I can see his captain brain thinking of a solution. “Co-captains is always an option. Captain and alternate captain?”

  “CU doesn’t do alternates,” Jacobs says. “You know that.”

  “They usually don’t let the team vote for captain either,” I point out. “I’d be happy to make you my alternate.”

  Jacobs gives me the finger.

  “What if the team made you do certain captain challenges?” Grant asks. “Try to make it fair instead of a popularity contest.”

  I smile. “You’re only saying that because you know your boy will lose if it comes down to who’s more likeable.”

  Cohen bounces in his seat next to me. “No, no. I love this idea. We could make you streak across the quad or … ooh, drinking contest.”

  Grant frowns. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”

  Cohen takes out his phone. “What? Can’t hear you. I’m too busy texting the others.”

  Jacobs and I share a glance. For the first time ever, I think we’re on the same page, thinking the exact same thing.

  We’re fucked.

  3

  Jacobs

  It’s getting late, and the plan had been to leave well before now, but Beck is putting away drinks like he’s on a mission. I’d like to say it’s not that I hope he gets drunk and screws up tomorrow, but that idea certainly holds appeal.

  It’s not the reason I’m still here though. Beck could write himself off whether I’m here or not. No, instead I have this useless feeling of responsibility to make sure everyone gets back to the dorms okay. Including Beck.

  “Damn, I’m going to miss this,” Grant says.

  “Unlikely.” Beck snorts. “You’re going to be living the NHL life. Hockey, booze, puck bunn—ah, I mean …”

  I whack him on the back of the head. “Asshole.”

  Zach laughs and turns a sickening look on Grant, while talking to me. “It’s okay, Topher, we know what the reality will be.”

  “Wait …” Beck sets a hand on my thigh as he leans right over to look at Zach. “What did you call him?”

  “Toph—”

  “No.” I cut him off. “No. None of that. It’s not a thing.”

  “Topher.” Beck sits back, giving me some damn space, and presses his fist to his mouth. His eyes are wide, like Zach’s given him some kind of gift. “Topher.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Whatever you say. Topher.”

  Well, I guess it is a thing. All I can do now is try to hide how lame I think that name is. I’ve let Zach get away with it because he’s Grant’s guy and he’s kinda funny, but I’ve always drawn the line when Grant tried it.

  For exactly this reason.

  Beck will latch onto anything he knows will get under my skin.

  “Talk smack all you want. It’s going to be Captain Topher to you.”

  Beck tilts his head. “It’s adorable you think that.”

  “I’m sorry you choose to be in denial.”

  “Denial?” He points at Cohen. “After we go streaking for these losers, there won’t be any question of who’s packing the big guns.”

  “A big dick means nothing on the ice.”

  His pretty-boy smile comes in full force. “And there you go, thinking of my dick again. Do we need to get you help?”

  Grant thumps the table. “Okay, we’re out.”

  It distracts me from a response, and I watch as he and Zach stand up. This is—wow. I suddenly realize this is the last time I’m gonna see my friend in … I have no fucking clue.

  I awkwardly stand up. “Good luck, man.”

  “Thanks.” He pulls me in for a hug. “Captain or not, you’re going to do awesome this year.”

  “So you don’t think I can do it either?”

  “Did I say that?” He lets me go, and Zach gives me an awkward wave. “Trust the team. They might be a bunch of goofballs, but when it comes to the game, they’re smart. And”—he trades a look with Zach—“have some fun with it. It’s your last year. Your last time with these guys. When they give you bullshit challenges, do them.”

  “I can’t help but think you wouldn’t be saying that if this was happening to you.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not.” He laughs and holds up his hand to the others. “I’ll forget you assholes when I’m famous.”

  Zach sighs like he’s too used to Grant by now.

  To be fair, we all are. He’s leaving big skates to fill.

  They leave me with a pressure bearing down on my chest, and as Grant loops his arm around Zach, I hear Zach say, “I know I’m hopeless, but there was definitely sexual tension there.”

  Grant laughs it off.

  Tension, yes. He’s right about that. Sexual tension? No. Nope, nope, nope. Never. Nope. No. Seven no’s should cover it. No wait, one more: fucking nope!

  It’s time to call it. I’m about to tell the team to get their asses up and get moving, but when I turn back around, it’s only Beck waiting for me.

  “Let’s go.” I’m resigned to another annoying walk back to the dorms.

  We leave, and I watch Beck to see if I’m gonna have to carry his heavy ass, but he seems to be walking straight.

  “You’re not drunk,” I realize.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “You drank at least double the rest of us, how are you still on your feet?” I’m nowhere near drunk, but the beer has given me a buzz.

  “Dude, half of those were Cokes.”

  “What?”

  “It’s called responsible drinking.”

  “I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”

  “What, drinking? I’ve done my research on it.”

  I let out a long, patient breath, reminding myself it’s stupid to engage. The guy can’t have a single conversation without it turning into a joke.

  “Oh, I get it.” He slings his arm around my shoulders, and I immediately shrug him off. “You were hoping I’d have a hangover for tomorrow. Wow. Harsh, Topher, even for you.”

  Patience. I just need some fucking patience.

  “Here I was thinking you wanted to become captain the honorable way. Instead, you wanted me to get drunk so you could take advantage of the situation. And not in the fun way.”

  “Has anyone ever told you your voice is on the level of shattered glass?”

  “Maybe if you removed that hockey stick from your ass, you’d find me more enjoyable.”

  “Doubtful. You’d still be … you.
”

  “Interesting.” Beck rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m beginning to think this thing between us is personal.”

  “Only now picking up on that?”

  “To be honest, I’ve never really given a shit before.”

  “Cool story.” Since when did campus get this big? We’re still barely halfway to the dorm. “Why do you care now?”

  “I don’t. But it would be a whole lot easier for you to follow me next year if you liked me a little bit.”

  “It would be a whole lot easier to like you if you weren’t a self-assured ass.”

  “And now you’re thinking of my ass. Geez, Topher, maybe Grant’s little boy toy is right.”

  “Don’t call Zach that. I wasn’t talking about your ass. And no one is right about anything.” My face is getting hot, and I remind myself about the patience thing again. Beck isn’t going to get a rise out of me for implying I’m gay. I’m not. But … no. Nope. What had been going on in my head for Grant was hero worship and nothing else. I just get a hard-on for serious talent.

  That’s it.

  When Beck doesn’t respond, I know something’s up. And as much as I don’t wanna look at his smug face, I can’t stop myself. He’s watching me with way too much going on behind his eyes for someone who’s drunk at least as much as me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You got really angry about that all of a sudden.”

  “I’m not angry, you’re talking shit.”

  “Right.” His eyebrows lift a little, making me want to smack that expression off his face. “That totally explains why your hands are clenched.”

  I hurry to release my fists. “Turns out, anything more than a few hours with you is more strenuous than first practice of the season.”

  “You going to throw up now too?”

  “That was one time, freshman year. Let it go.”

  “Sure thing, Topher.”

  I groan and try not to lash out at him. The thing is, from anyone else, I’d tell them to shut up and move on. They’d call me names, I’d throw them right back, then we’d get the fuck over it.

  But Beck has somehow managed to unearth all the little buttons that drive me crazy, and even more annoying is that I let him get to me. This summer is about working on the team, finding new talent and future CU students, and proving to everyone I’m the captain they need. If I keep letting Beck piss me off, none of those things are going to happen. I’ve managed to keep my cool the past few years, but I’ve also never had to deal with him in such close capacity before.