Page 47 of The One Timer

Jason continues to eat but nods his head when he glances at me.

I shrug and dig into my food, needing it.

“She’s the reason you’re late,” Sabien continues. “Are you seeing her? Or is the real question whether you’re dating or fooling around?”

“None of the above.” I talk around my eggs. “And you know I’m not dating—not this year. This is the year of my rookie mission, the year of keeping my head down and making my mark.”

He nods. “Sure. But still. A guy can fool around. And when he does, he doesn’t let it interfere with hockey—doesn’t come late to practice.”

“I’m not late because of Emery,” I lie my ass off. “And we’re not fooling around. She’s too serious. Also, she’s not interested.”

“You sure about that?” Link says. His plate is empty, not even one crumb left. “Because she looked at you like you were⁠—”

I give him the finger. “Since when are you an expert? I don’t see you finding the woman of your dreams. All you do is flirt and hook up like women are interchangeable.”

“Hey—what the fuck?”

Sabien puts up a hand to calm Link, then he turns to me and lays in like he’s the only one with the right. “Since when are you Mr. Self-righteous? You’ve had your share of⁠—”

“At least I see a girl more than once and know her name. Never mind. Why are we even having this discussion?”

He shrugs. “Because you were late today.”

I flash him my middle finger again and shovel some food in my mouth, more disgusted with myself than him, unsettled and unhappy with the state of affairs because the last thing I want to do is keep Emery at arms-length, even if it’s the smart thing to do. And fucking hard to do.

The problem is, I’ve committed to staying at Gran’s for the week, and I can’t change my mind. What would I tell her for an explanation? She’d be wicked disappointed, and that’s one thing I won’t do. I won’t disappoint my grandmother.

I glance at Sabien, who’s examining his steak like it’s a Picasso rather than a piece of meat. He’s far too used to having a cook prep his food. Taking the salt, I shake some on my eggs and surreptitiously loosen the cover before putting it in front of him because I’m in a mood. Besides, I owe him a prank for giving me shit about Em. Even if he does have a point—which I will never reveal, even under penalty of sitting with Lemaire on our next road trip, winner of the loudest snoring prize on the team.

“Do we need a tux to go to your family’s gala in Boston?” Link asks. “Not that I mind because I look fucking fantastic in a tux—according to the ladies.”

Jason snorts. “Of course, you wear a tux.” They exchange middle fingers.

“Will Emery be at the Gala? Jason asks me.

Good question.

Coach Spence—Spencer Logan, a former NHL hardass—aims his impressive scowl at me from across his desk. “There are plenty of guys in the AHL who’d love your spot and who would not disrespect the team by being late.”

Fuck. My gut churns like a cement mixer. The AHL is the most dreaded threat to a rookie, the worst possible reprimand, like being sent to the edge of hell.

At the skate, Coach Spence rides me and holds me late for extra sprints. I was twenty minutes late, but he holds me for close to an hour. Now I know why Coach has his reputation as a hardass. Not that I’m complaining because I have no good excuse. Besides, his formula for success works, and he’s the boss.

The other guys are dressed and mostly gone by the time I get to the locker room, dripping like I’ve walked through a monsoon.

Link is still there, lounging in a chair and tapping on his phone when I come through.

I grab a towel to wipe my face. “I’m beat. Advice—don’t ever cross Coach Spence. He’s damn tough.”

“Bosses are supposed to treat worker bees like they’re inferior,” Link says, snapping a piece of gum in his mouth like it’s a rubber band.

I pull off my shirt and pads, then sit and take off my skates and the rest of my drenched practice gear. “What’s with you and that gum?”

“It’s either that or smokes.”

“Cigarettes? What the fuck? What are you still doing here anyway? You should be napping before drills and scrimmage this afternoon.”

“Yes, mother.” He smirks but doesn’t say why he’s still hanging around. It probably has to do with a woman. In the six weeks he’s been with the team, I haven’t seen anyone more into playing the chick magnet card than him. He also plays the big and brawny card pretty well.