Page 32 of Pucking Never
GRACE
At the next team practice, I’m feeling calmer about interacting with Jensen again, but I’m still afraid of the awkwardness that will undoubtedly be there. I’m just glad he doesn’t have my number, otherwise I’m sure I’d have gotten a pissed off phone call from him by now.
I intentionally get to the area a few minutes after practice is supposed to start so there’s no chance of Jensen and I running into each other beforehand. Just as I hoped, by the time I arrive, the team is already on the ice, paying attention as the coach gives his marching orders.
This is the team’s last practice before their next game, so things are more intense and their coach isn’t giving them any slack. As they move across the ice, running drills and plays, I try to focus my attention and camera on Carson, but I keep stealing glances Jensen’s way. He’s looking good, even in his hockey gear, and I hate how my heart races as I watch him.
Suddenly, he looks over at me and I quickly jerk my gaze away, my cheeks heating in mortification. I return my attention to Carson, trying my best to look nonchalant, but I can feel Jensen’s eyes still on me, a weighty stare that makes me twitchy.
He skates by me but doesn’t say anything, and I do my best to ignore him. When he skates by me again, I start to grow suspicious that he’s trying to get my attention, but I force my eyes to remain locked on my camera’s screen. When he starts to dart in and out of my video, I clench my teeth in irritation.
What the hell is he doing?
“Reece!” the coach barks. “Stop messing around! Get into position.”
Ignoring the coach's order, Jensen continues his peculiar zigzag pattern across my field of view. I lower my camera, finally giving in and meeting his challenging gaze.
"What do you think you're doing?" I mouth at him, feeling my cheeks flush again. Jensen just grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. He taps a gloved finger to his helmet then points at me.
I roll my eyes.
“After practice,” I mouth silently, not wanting to draw anymore attention to myself.
He nods, appearing satisfied and returns to his position before the coach rips him a new asshole.
I continue to film for the rest of practice, my heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and anticipation at the thought of talking to Jensen. I’m nervous now that I’ve accepted the fact that I want him. I still don’t really know what to say to him, but I remember Skyler’s words about giving him a chance and know I have to be honest with him about what I’m feeling. Practice ends and the team files out of the rink. I pack up my equipment slowly, dreading what's about to come.
Sure enough, Jensen is waiting for me near the exit, leaning against the wall, still partially dressed in his practice gear. He’s abandoned his helmet, gloves, and skates, but he’s still an imposing figure, even in his stocking feet with his sweaty hair plastered against his forehead.
“Hey,” I say, looking around to make sure no one is around to overhear us. “Maybe we should wait until we’re somewhere a little more private before talking.” I don’t want to risk anyone else walking by when I tell him what I’ve decided about us.
He chuckles and replies, “Hello to you too, beautiful. Don’t worry. I just have something for you.”
He holds out a hand and I realize he has a jersey clutched in his fingers. I frown, confused as I reach out to take it. I hold it up and see that it has his last name and jersey number on the back.
“What is this for?” I ask, glancing up at him.
“For you to wear at the game,” he explains with a shrug. “So you look like part of the team.”
I stare at him, stunned. I’d expected him to rip into me about leaving him without a word the other morning, but instead, he’s giving me his jersey. I don’t really know how to feel in this moment other than confusion.
Before I can come up with some sort of response, Carson suddenly appears, popping out of the locker room and looking around like a groundhog. He spots us, frowns in confusion before making his way down to us.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” he asks as he reaches us. His eyes dart between us, clearly confused.
“Oh, we were just… talking,” I stammer.
He looks down at Jensen’s jersey clutched in my hands.
Glancing back up at Jensen, he asks, “Bro, why’d you give my sister your jersey?”
My heart hammers as I momentarily panic, wondering how to explain this. Jensen, though, is much quicker on the draw than I am.
“I thought she could wear it to the game,” he says with an easy shrug. “Since it’s away, she should wear our colors so people know she’s there for us.”
Carson shakes his head, clearly baffled. “How’s that make sense? Shouldn’t she get my jersey?”
“Dude, why would she want to wear her brother’s jersey to the game?” Jensen scoffs.