Page 9 of Mr. Trick Play
“I’ll be here,” he replies, his gaze moving to my mouth for a moment before he licks his lips. My stomach swirls, and I quickly turn my attention to my omelet, hoping it’s simply hunger making it feel that way, because no way do I need to be crushing on the captain.
Chapter four
Reid
Igettotherink early, and when I see Luka out on the ice on his own practicing the drills, I can’t help but stand here and watch.
“Determined, isn’t he?” Coach Dennings asks, making me jump.
“He’s also reckless; those trick plays of his lost him the puck more times than they helped him to score.”
“His fresh moves are one of the things that we wanted to bring to the team.”
“You’re the bosses,” I reply, turning away from the rink for the first time since I started watching Luka.
“And you’re their captain. You lead them just as much, sometimes more than we do. So I’m making it your job to bring him up.”
“You’re what?”
“I want you to mentor Hart. Teach him what it really means to be here. What this NHL life is like.”
“Wouldn’t he be better paired with Kirkston or Folley? Another winger, at least?”
“Not up to the task, Reid?” he asks with a smirk.
“I know what you’re doing,” I reply, glancing back to where Luka’s talking with Henry Colt, our starting goalie.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Coach Dennings says, and then he walks away before I can try to convince him this plan is a bad idea.
Back when I first started with Philly, Dennings was an assistant coach, and he’s seen me grow from rookie year through to captaining the team. He also knows that I don’t back down from a challenge, so if he wants me to mentor the rookie, I’ll mentor the rookie. I had already planned to meet the kid again for breakfast today.
I hate to admit it, but he impressed me yesterday with his knowledge of nutrition. Maybe he didn’t spend all his downtime at frat parties and hooking up with girls. Looks like he at least attended a few classes. Though I have no reason to think that is how he spent his time. I probably would have, if I had gone to college. Except for the girls part, of course. I wonder what else he studied. I didn’t go to college, I jumped directly to the NHL. Hockey was always going to be my future, but it wasn’t until my parents died that I stopped to think about what comes after. Afterwards, every dollar I had went to keeping the house and supporting the boys. Once those were taken care of, I hired an accountant and financial adviser to help manage the rest. So many young players don’t think about how short this career really can be. Even if you don’t get injured, if you’re lucky you get a decade; a handful of players have two decades on the ice. Imight not know what I’ll do when this all ends, but I know I’ll have the financial freedom to figure it out.
Will Luka even listen to me if I try to tell him to be smart with his money? I can’t say I would have listened at that age if I hadn’t been forced to think about more than myself. I guess if I’m going to be his mentor, I’ll find out. Plus, who knows, maybe by spending more time with him, I’ll be able to get him out of my head.
***
The first few days of camp were a good warm-up, but with a week to go, things are finally picking up the pace.
“Run it again,” I tell Luka as he glides back to position. “This time, try to stay in line with White.”
“I was in line with White that time,” he complains.
“You were behind, run it again,” I reply, folding my arms over my chest the best I can in my gear. I get them to run through five more times before I’m satisfied he’s got it down. “Great, that was perfect,” I say, and when he strips off his helmet, a wide smile on his lips highlighting his deep dimples, it brings that familiar swirl to my gut. I had hoped that by spending more time with Luka, I’d be able to shake these feelings, and the thoughts that shouldn’t be circulating through my mind, like wondering how soft those perfect lips are, or how he tastes. But if anything, it’s getting harder not to think about him.
Luka skates in figure eights over to the side where I’m standing. “You know, if White dropped the puck back, you could collect it and lob it over their defenseman up to me for a shot right by their net,” he says.
“That’s not the play,” I reply, straight-faced.
“But it could be,” he says, turning to White. “Don’t you think—“
“It’d be too risky,” I cut him off to say. “The puck could be stolen when White dropped it back, or when it’s sent up. Lobs are hard to control.”
“But if—“
“No. Just run it the way I said to run it. Got it?”
“Yes, Cap,” he replies and skates off to join the others taking practice shots on goal down the other end.
