Page 102 of Rookie Attraction

It’s just fucking.

Calm down and lock that shit up tight.

I quickly nod at Finn, then rush into the hallway like I’m racing for my life.

Finn

Sel stalks past me, and when our eyes connect, the electricity is undeniable. Every minute of the last night comes flashing back. My pulse thrums like crazy, but I need to calm down so I don’t walk into the locker room with a boner.

We both pause for a split second and then he’s moving past me. Still, I can’t help but look back to watch him walk away. All suited up in his gear, the man’s fine as fuck.

Fine and mine.

No, I shouldn’t assume that. I’m thinking too far ahead and it’s always my damn heart that leads. Yes, Sel wants to have sex again, but that’s it, and only until someone else catches his eye. Only, selfishly, I hope no one does. I want him all to myself. Now that I notice how hot Sel looks, no matter what he’s wearing, I can’t unsee it. I still prefer him naked. Or half naked. Hmmm, I need to see him in his jersey—or even better, in mine—and nothing else…

“Yo, Finn!” Kuznetsov calls out, pulling me out of my naughty daydream.

I amble over and my fellow d-man pulls me into a hug.

“Thought you were gonna miss practice.”

I chuckle. “No way. My first rideshare cancelled and I had to wait a while for another, but I made it.”

“Buy a fucking car, my friend. I’m sure you can afford it by now.”

“On my to-do list.”

“Alright. If you need anyone to go with, hit me up. Cars are my thing.”

“Cool, thanks.”

I quickly head to my stall, grab my stuff, and gear up. Looking around, I notice most of the guys are already heading out. When I’m done, I glance up at Biscuit and give my stuffed cougar a tap, even if it’s only practice day. I need good mojo if I’m going to pretend that Sel and I are platonic teammates like we were at the beginning of training.

When I hit the rink, I spot Sel talking with Range and Lee, and soon the rest of the d-team is called to one end of the ice. The same thing happens with the forwards, and Sorensen and Druin get one-on-one time with their coach.

After a half hour of drills, where I’m on my best professional behavior, the roster meets up for a mock game. This time, Sel’s playing for one side and I’m on the other. I guess Range wants to shift things up, so I’m paired with Kuznetsov, Sorensen, Berg, Makela, and St. Clare. Sel’s team gets Druin, Brady, Tullmore, Ranken, and Jarvinen.

Sel and I are competitors at this moment, enemies if you will, and I remind myself to act accordingly. The game gets surprisingly intense within minutes when Brady, nearing Makela on a breakaway, rams our forward with a vicious hit that drops Mats to the ice. Range blows his whistle while Makela gets up and shakes it off. Our star forward is enraged, swearing at Brady in Finnish and English.

“What the fuck was that?” Range shouts, pointing at Brady.

“This is a practice, you idiot!” Makela screams, his anger turning to shoving as he pushes Brady back. “You want to injure your teammate by hitting that hard?”

“No more!” Range demands. “Brady, you hit any teammate that violently ever again, you won’t be playing, you read me? Save your aggression for the opposition. Your warnings are racking up.”

Brady grunts and spits on the ice.

“And Makela, no shoving a colleague either,” Range adds. “Both of you calm down and get back to work.”

Range skates off and I figure that’s the end of it.

“I should be allowed to defend myself,” Makela hisses.

Brady scoffs. “Don’t be such a wimp. It’s part of the game, we get hit all the time.”

“Not by one of our own.” I turn to Brady. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Stay out of it,” Brady warns and gets in my face.