brother hurt. Hell, she didn’t want to get hurt. At the end of this though, she could see them all being hurt.
Chapter Eight
Was there anything more perfect than pristine ice? Shayne stepped onto the ice and couldn’t hold back the grin. Beneath the sharp blade was the satisfying slice of metal carving into frozen water. It had been a slight procrastination to suggest the rink to Todd. The wisest place to have a conversation about Lacey probably wasn’t on ice with sharp objects and hard pucks, but he couldn’t really figure out the right place to confess.
There probably wasn’t.
Why hadn’t Lacey simply said that telling Todd was a dumb decision then distract him with sex? Fat lot of good she was. What was the point of being smokin’ hot if you’re not telling someone when they were being ridiculously stupid? He was having a word with her later on.
Pushing off with his right foot, he skated to the end of the rink. He spun easily then skated backwards as he tried to figure out what he was going to say to Todd. Clasping his hands on top of his head, he studied the empty seats that were behind the goal but found no answers.
Some conversations a guy didn’t want to have with his best friend.
Sex and best friend’s oldest sister was right at the top of the list. When he reached the player’s bench, he slowed to a stop then stepped in to retrieve his gear. Since it was only him and Todd, he had his stick, his goal pads, mask and gloves. He strapped the pads on over his jeans. Always comfy, he thought, a wry grin escaping. All Todd needed was a stick. Jerk.
Once, younger and a lot stupider, he and Todd had done a one-on-one game with Shayne deciding to just use his gloves. When he woke up from the shot to his head, Coach had looked at him with a stern expression, “Helmet next time, boys” had been his sage advice.
A guy only needed his bell rung once to figure that was the best advice.
Hooking his helmet on the end of his stick, he carried the gloves over to the goal. Todd set the bucket of pucks on the ice then knocked it over with a loud clang. His grin was a faint reminder of the kids they had once been. With his hockey stick, Todd struck the bucket and watched it slide and spin across the ice until it hit the boards.
“There’s something about an empty rink,” Todd called, “that makes you want to make a shitload of noise.”
Shayne nodded as he strapped on the helmet then slid the blocker on his stick hand, adjusting it to his liking. There was a soothing ritual in putting on the gloves for him. All the rest of the gear was just that. The gloves made him feel like a goalie. Next he eased on the catch glove, grinning as he folded the ends.
Oh yeah, now the game was on.
Before suggesting the game to Todd, Shayne had gone for a run then headed over to the Granville gym for a yoga class. Had to keep himself bendy and flexible somehow and if checking out equally bendy and flexible girls in tight clothes was his punishment, then so be it. He needed to get some weight time in too.
Todd was organizing the pucks how he liked while Shayne did a few stretches. It would really suck to pull a groin muscle. Talk about hindering his time with Lacey.
And now he was full circle in what to say to Todd.
Muttering under his breath about dumb ideas, he smacked the catch glove on the ice. There was a nice echo from leather meeting ice and he had to agree with Todd about the noise in an empty rink. The slap was a signal developed over a lifetime of the two of them facing each other. Shayne credited all those hours with Todd for his skill in the net. Yes, he had learned a lot at MHS, but it had been hundreds of slap shots, snap shots, wrist shots, back hand shots, shots off the bar, and practiced breakaways that had gotten him to where he was.
Todd’s feet eased apart as he hunched down. He tapped the wooden blade on the right side of the puck then the left then back again. “It’s Magerin facing off against
Chapter Eight
Was there anything more perfect than pristine ice? Shayne stepped onto the ice and couldn’t hold back the grin. Beneath the sharp blade was the satisfying slice of metal carving into frozen water. It had been a slight procrastination to suggest the rink to Todd. The wisest place to have a conversation about Lacey probably wasn’t on ice with sharp objects and hard pucks, but he couldn’t really figure out the right place to confess.
There probably wasn’t.
Why hadn’t Lacey simply said that telling Todd was a dumb decision then distract him with sex? Fat lot of good she was. What was the point of being smokin’ hot if you’re not telling someone when they were being ridiculously stupid? He was having a word with her later on.
Pushing off with his right foot, he skated to the end of the rink. He spun easily then skated backwards as he tried to figure out what he was going to say to Todd. Clasping his hands on top of his head, he studied the empty seats that were behind the goal but found no answers.
Some conversations a guy didn’t want to have with his best friend.
Sex and best friend’s oldest sister was right at the top of the list. When he reached the player’s bench, he slowed to a stop then stepped in to retrieve his gear. Since it was only him and Todd, he had his stick, his goal pads, mask and gloves. He strapped the pads on over his jeans. Always comfy, he thought, a wry grin escaping. All Todd needed was a stick. Jerk.
Once, younger and a lot stupider, he and Todd had done a one-on-one game with Shayne deciding to just use his gloves. When he woke up from the shot to his head, Coach had looked at him with a stern expression, “Helmet next time, boys” had been his sage advice.
A guy only needed his bell rung once to figure that was the best advice.
Hooking his helmet on the end of his stick, he carried the gloves over to the goal. Todd set the bucket of pucks on the ice then knocked it over with a loud clang. His grin was a faint reminder of the kids they had once been. With his hockey stick, Todd struck the bucket and watched it slide and spin across the ice until it hit the boards.
“There’s something about an empty rink,” Todd called, “that makes you want to make a shitload of noise.”
Shayne nodded as he strapped on the helmet then slid the blocker on his stick hand, adjusting it to his liking. There was a soothing ritual in putting on the gloves for him. All the rest of the gear was just that. The gloves made him feel like a goalie. Next he eased on the catch glove, grinning as he folded the ends.
Oh yeah, now the game was on.
Before suggesting the game to Todd, Shayne had gone for a run then headed over to the Granville gym for a yoga class. Had to keep himself bendy and flexible somehow and if checking out equally bendy and flexible girls in tight clothes was his punishment, then so be it. He needed to get some weight time in too.
Todd was organizing the pucks how he liked while Shayne did a few stretches. It would really suck to pull a groin muscle. Talk about hindering his time with Lacey.
And now he was full circle in what to say to Todd.
Muttering under his breath about dumb ideas, he smacked the catch glove on the ice. There was a nice echo from leather meeting ice and he had to agree with Todd about the noise in an empty rink. The slap was a signal developed over a lifetime of the two of them facing each other. Shayne credited all those hours with Todd for his skill in the net. Yes, he had learned a lot at MHS, but it had been hundreds of slap shots, snap shots, wrist shots, back hand shots, shots off the bar, and practiced breakaways that had gotten him to where he was.
Todd’s feet eased apart as he hunched down. He tapped the wooden blade on the right side of the puck then the left then back again. “It’s Magerin facing off against
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