Page 3 of Halftime

Fortunately, I was having one of my best days. First, we did some drills. Most of those were for the skaters. We goalies had different needs and did a lot of exercises and practice on our own. There was another freshman goalie here, but it soon became blindingly obvious I was better. I had to be. If I was going to be a professional, I had to be better than everyone. Because I didn’t want to play with women. I wanted to play with men.

My favorite part of the rookie exhibition was at the end, when the skaters took shots, and the other goalie and I did our best to stop them. This was what I lived for. And today everything was going well. The puck had slowed down, and I saw everything coming. I knew it would be harder with the rest of the team, with the better, more-experienced players, but for now, I let my mind go into my zone.

There was nothing but me and the puck. It was a battle I’d been fighting as long as I could remember. And today I was winning.

The whistle blew, and the shots stopped coming. I stood straight, flipped up my visor, and turned to suck some water through the straw in one of the bottles I’d left on the net. I was coming back to reality now, my body coated in sweat, my muscles vibrating from released tension. This was the closest I’d been to a game in weeks, and I was buzzing, still ready to go. The rest of the players had already started toward the locker rooms. I gathered my stuff and started to follow them when I heard someone shouting my name.

“Devereaux!”

I hadn’t expected someone to call me out like that. My coach had called on me during practice, but this was a male voice, not Coach Cray’s. I hadn’t been here at school long enough to get to know anyone not connected with my team. Maybe it was bizarre, but I only knew women on campus so far.

It was definitely me they were calling though. There were five guys down near the ice, and it wasn’t hard to figure out they were hockey players. They were big and fit, built the way they needed to be to play my sport. Plus, they had that air of confidence that the men’s teams swaggered around with. Moo U didn’t have a football team, and the hockey team was the jock royalty on campus. The men’s hockey team, of course. My roommate had already checked them out and told me more than enough about them. I knew the rookies for the men’s team were next on the ice, so these guys were obviously here to check out the new blood, just like the women had been here to watch me.

Not gonna lie, for a minute, I checked every face, making sure none of them were my ex. I hated that I reacted that way, but I hadn’t completely gotten over him. At least, not to the point of not caring about him. Maybe I should break my own rule and check whether he was still here, or if he’d managed to get dengue fever. Or leprosy. When none of the faces were familiar, I relaxed and skated over to see what these guys wanted.

I tugged off my helmet. I knew my face would be flushed and my hair would be sticking to me with sweat, but I didn’t let that bother me. I had no romantic interest in any of them. I’d promised myself not to date an athlete and gone against that once. I wouldn’t again. I shook out my hair, wiped my face, and waited to hear what they wanted. Best case, they’d tell me I’d played well, because damn it, I had. Worst case, smack talk. I could handle both.

“Hello, ladies. How can I help you?”

I might as well start the ball rolling. I’d played with boys before. I didn’t need them to like me, but I did need them to respect me. And in the locker room, trash talking could earn respect.

“Cute,” said a tall blond. He appeared to be the leader of the group, and I took note. He was leaning against the boards, confidence oozing out his pores. That was fine. I was just as confident.

“I hear you think you’re pretty good.”

I could work with this. I shook my head. “Nah, IknowI’mgreat.” I gave them my widest smile.

Blondie smirked. One of the other guys looked shocked. I focused on Blondie.

“I also hear you think you can take on men.”

A snort from behind him let me know they’d caught Blondie’s double entendre. Again, nothing I hadn’t handled before. It was a challenge to see what I could take.

“Are you asking me for a date, Blondie, or do you want to play hockey?”

He ran his gaze over me, so I did the same to him. He wasn’t going to see much. I was covered with pads. I could verify that he was fit and had money to spend on clothes, but the appraisal was a gesture, not interest on my part.

No athletes. Especially not hockey players. Assuming any offered.

Blondie crossed his arms and cocked his head. “Think any of these freshman or rookies can score on you?”

A couple of guys had made it onto the ice. I was the only one from the women’s team still around.

I ignored the look on his face, the smirky do-you-get-what-I’m-suggesting look.

“They won’t be able to get the puck past me, unless they’re very, very lucky. And I don’t think any of them are that lucky today.”

A big grin creased his face. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He stood up. “Unless you’re just talk?”

I jerked my head at the male coach who’d just stepped onto the ice. “If he’s okay with it, then bring it.”

Blondie called out, and the coach skated over. Not hard to see that Blondie had some clout on the men’s team. I wondered if he was a senior or junior.

“Hey, Coach Garfunkle. Can we have a little fun here? Devereaux here is pretty good. Maybe the new guys can give her some more practice and see if they can get the puck past her?”