“Nice knowing you.”
“I’ll see you again,” he promises. “I still need my shirt back.”
I flip him off as I slam his bedroom door behind me—
“I already burnt it.”
thirteen
Zeke
Ihaven’t slept with anyone since Avalon. Not since we had an afternoon quickie, and then she made it very clear it would never happen again.
It’s like I’m off my game when it comes to girls. And to avoid the guys asking me questions, I’ve been spending more time at the hospital with my mom. Which isn’t a bad trade-off. Most days, I’d rather hang out with her than sleep around.
The sex just helps with all the tension, but since hockey season is back in full swing, the sex isn’t as necessary. I have other ways to blow off steam, but a guy still has needs. And I’m pretty sure my right arm has more muscle because it’s working overtime to meet those needs.
“So, who do you have lined up?” Fletcher wonders, sending the puck in my direction.
We’re finishing up practice by hitting the puck back and forth, mainly because Coach stepped out to take a phone call, so we’re rejuvenating after that grueling practice he just put us through.
“Lined up for what?” I shoot the puck toward the middle of the ice where Jaxon and Declan are stationed.
“The weekend,” he continues. “Do you still meet up with Whitney when we go to Ohio?”
“Oh, right, um, I haven’t reached out to her yet, but I assume she’ll be at the game.”
“You okay?” He rests against his hockey stick. “You seem off.”
“I’ve just been spending a lot of long nights at the hospital, so I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Is your mom okay?”
The puck flies down from the other end of the ice, where Jeremy and Brooks are chatting, waiting for the puck to return to them. Fletcher stops it easily, gliding it around the ice with his stick before sending it to mine.
“She’s good, same old, same old. A shitload of tests, a bunch of doctors who all do different things, none of which make sense. I have no right to complain about being tired; they keep her up all night, and when they aren’t in her room, she has machines hooked up to her, keeping her awake,” I reply, sending the puck to Declan. “You see Bowman? I swear he was here a minute ago.”
“He was here before Coach dipped out to take that phone call,” Fletcher replies. “But I don’t know if he was down there when—”
There are three taps against the ice, and I look toward the far corner where one of our freshmen is standing. He’s been watching the door, and those three taps alert us that Coach is coming back inside, which means game mode.
Fletcher is on top of me, no longer leaving a gap like he was a few moments ago. The puck comes soaring back toward me, and I hit it around Fletcher and make a mad dash for the net. Jaxon meets me near the goal, Declan hot on his trail, and with no clean shot,I’m forced to go behind the net, the puck going back and forth in front of me.
Jeremy comes around to where I am, blocking Fletcher so I can skate around the other side of the net, barely making it past Declan. When I have a clear enough shot, I shoot the puck toward Jeremy, who’s standing right at the corner of the net, and he easily tips it in.
“Fuck yeah!” I cheer, skating toward him as a whistle is blown.
“Nice work, men,” Coach Anderson says. “Way to work together. Great work clearing yourself for that puck, Moore. Practice is over. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so please get your rest tonight. If you guys play like that at the game, they won’t even know what hit them. Let’s keep our undefeated record through the weekend, yeah?”
I follow the guys off the ice and back into the locker room.
“So, are you meeting Whitney tomorrow after the game?” Jaxon asks. “You won’t have time after Saturday's game because we’ll head home early, but tomorrow—”
“I can be out of the room,” Fletcher cuts him off. “Just let me know early enough so I can find other arrangements.”
“Yeah, we don’t want Coach to find Fletcher sleeping on the floor outside your room again.” Jeremy laughs.
“In all fairness, I told him he was welcome to stay.”