Page 5 of Offensive Plays

"Fergie," he begins. "Your little crush is about to cost us the playoffs." He sighs when he says it.

Is he serious right now? This is coming from the guy who avoided telling the girl he pined after for years exactly how he felt about her, until just recently.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I tense. "I'm telling you this as a friend, Ferg. Libby isn't like other girls."

I stare at him blankly. "I don't know why you're telling me this."

"Because," he says, lowering his hand and leaning against the wall behind him. "I don't want to see you risk it all for a girl who, truth be told, is kind of a man-eater."

I think my jaw just dropped. I run a hand over my chin...yep. It did.

"All I'm saying," Zane continues, "Is maybe to set your sights on someone that isn't going to make your life hell. Man to man? Libby will eat you alive and use your bones to pick her teeth."

"I'm not interested in your sister, Zane." It comes out a little too zealous, but he's got a lot of nerve.

He puts his hands up in surrender, "Ok, bud. I'm just sayin'"

I look at the time on my phone. Gah! I'm late.

"Good talk," I say over my shoulder as I power walk away from the defensemen.

"Yep, good talk," he calls back to me. And in his tone I know that this conversation isn't over.

I don't know if I'm embarrassed because he's right—I do have a crush on Zane's sister. An epic one. Or if it's because our whole team is paying for it, and he knows.

Either way, the last thing I want to do is be interviewed about the shot heard around the world while I'm still reeling from it.

Rina's waiting for me outside the press room, arms crossed and face scowling. Great. Someone else I can add to my people I've pissed off today list.

"Fergie," she says with a warning in her tone.

"Hi, Rina. Lovely to see you as always."

"You're next. Hurry up," she whispers, opening the door and following me inside.

The second I step inside, cameras are whirling on me—flashes, questions, and eager faces pushing mics into my face.

I struggle to clear my throat as I make my way to the front to join my teammates.

"Michael, were you licking your wounds in the locker room just now?"

“Mr. Ferguson, do you think you failed your team by missing that shot?"

"Did you have a stroke out there, Fergie?"

Coach Murray shakes his head and says to the crowd, "Ok, ok. One question at a time. You know how this works, folks."

I take my seat next to Ryker who gives me a reassuring smile. Landry still looks pissed next to him.

Pulling my mic toward me, I lean forward. “First of all, Mr. Ferguson is my father. Though, I’m sure you’re all well aware of that. And second, I'm also sure you're all aware that I missed the game-winning shot."

There are chuckles all around the now quiet room.

“That's hockey,” I continue. “It happens. It's just part of the game. We take shots, and sometimes we get a goal, and sometimes we don't."

"Yeah, but this is the playoffs. Every shot counts," one guy says from the back.

"Oh, I didn't realize we were in the playoffs. I really should've just scored then, yeah?" More chuckles at my smart ass remark.