Page 11 of Icing on Top

“Why don’t you practice with us?” Charlie suggested. “You can play one-on-one with Daddy, and I’ll be goalie.”

It may have been several years since I’d properly played, but the competitive side of me refused to turn her idea down.

I looked at Jeremiah, raising my brows with a slight smirk. “Think you could take me? I know you’re used to being the one in the crease.”

His thick eyebrows lowered as he tilted his head down, eyeing me in a way that had a blush creeping up the back of my neck. What had I just agreed to?

“I’m a well-rounded player, thank you very much. I can sink pucks into the net just as easily as I can keep them out.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

I turned to get out my gear, grateful for the excuse to break the intense eye contact, and sat down to exchange my sneakers for skates.

“Oooh, Daddy, I think you’re in trouble.”

Jeremiah’s jaw dropped, and he grasped at his chest as if she’d shot him in the heart. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Tot!”

Charlie just giggled, replaced her helmet, and scurried off to the goal to muck the crease.

Jeremiah hung back until I had everything on, and then we both skated out to the face-off circle to the right of the goal. He set the puck down, and we positioned ourselves on either side, knees bent and sticks at the ready.

“On the count of three,” Charlie called out. “One… two… three, GO!”

Our sticks collided with the puck at the same time, trapping it between us. That was, until I released some pressure and Jeremiah nudged it far enough my way that I could hook my blade around it and drag it away, dodging to his goal-side. His legs were long, though, and he caught up to me in just two strides. When I tried to make a quick stop and pull it back, he snagged it from me and flicked it at the goal with ease. But Charlie was ready, crouching down to trap the puck beneath her glove at such a speed, I would have bruised both of my knees—even with pads—and been limping for weeks.

“Nice one, Tot!” her dad cheered.

She tossed the puck toward the same face-off circle, and we resumed our positions.

It’d been a while since I’d played a proper one-on-one with anyone besides Uncle Cal, and Jeremiah was much lighter on his feet, not as far removed from his hockey career as my uncle. Or me, for that matter.

Three face-offs ended the same way with us grappling for the puck and Charlie blocking our shots. While we were not holding back with each other, we were definitely considerate of the fact that there was a seven-year-old in the goal. That didn’t diminish her abilities, though. She looked like a contortionist out there, bending her body this way and that to get to the puck as fast as she could.

I’d thought I’d figured out Jeremiah’s go-to moves when he faked me out, bringing his stick back as if he were going to take a slap shot and then using the runner of his skate to knock the puck to the inside, and subsequently, behind me when I lunged forward in an attempt to stop him. The misdirection had apparently worked on Charlie, too. She’d moved to cover her left post, but Jeremiah had already skated to the right side and knocked it into the top shelf before she’d been able to react.

“That was a good one, Daddy!” Charlie grinned, not the least bit deterred by being scored on.

Jeremiah tapped his glove against the top of her helmet. “Snuck it by ya, didn’t I?” he teased affectionately.

All that affection disappeared as he joined me for the next face-off, circling around me with the puck before coming to a stop.

“Better luck next time, Cupcake.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up on the right side in a way that was equal parts endearing and irksome. I narrowed my eyes, the fire of competition swelling in my chest. He had no idea what he had just unleashed. I had to score a goal now.

Taking possession of the puck this time, I swept around the back of the goal. Jeremiah was hot on my tail, but not fast enough. I managed to slip the puck in between the post and Charlie’s stick as she reached out to block it.

Out of habit, I pumped my fist in the air. “Whoo!”

“She got you, Daddy.”

Jeremiah ignored Charlie’s chirping, his gaze locked on me.

“Tied game,” I sing-songed.

His eyes never left mine as he crouched down into his ready position, far less cocky than he had been just a few minutes ago.

We waited for Charlie to count down, and again, I was able to snag the puck before darting to the left. Jeremiah attempted to use the advantage of his long arms to steal the puck from me, his stick constantly hitting against mine or my skates. I zigzagged, trying everything I could to shake him long enough that I could line up for a decent shot.