Chapter One
Mikah
* * *
“Lutzgo.”
I pause midway of tugging down my Ice Kings T-shirt and meet Coach Woods’s gaze. He’s over twice my age, shorter, rounder. His gray hair is always side-swept and he looks like a kind man.
His kind, happy-go-lucky looks fooled me when I met him. After several conversations and meetings, I thought I’d met the man I always wished my own dad could be. Then I stepped on the ice with him. He yelled so much I was certain my butt was on the first plane back to Denmark. I’ve learned since it’s just his way. He fools us with his kindness, grows us with his fierce need to make us be our best, and in return, he earns our loyalty.
“Yes, Coach?”
“You work out this season?”
“Often.”
“Good. Good.” He slaps my shoulder as he passes me. “You’re good. Fast. This will be your best season yet. Promise you that if you keep up the hard work.”
A wash of relief warms me to my core.
He’s not a man to give compliments easily but I felt the way I skated today. I was one with the ice. Fast. Quick releases on the puck on the pass. Fast catches on the bad ones sent my way. It was grueling.
I live for it. Always have since the first time I slid onto the ice. Literally. My dad put me on skates and plopped me on the ice. I did the splits and landed on my ass. Thirty minutes later, I was speeding around the small rink in our smaller town almost right in the middle of Denmark’s central region. It came to me naturally, but I still worked my ass off to make Denmark’s International hockey team in Europe. The Danish team isn’t the best team in Europe and only one or two a year get drafted to America’s National Hockey League.
It’s been my father’s goal for me since before I was born. It’s been mine since I was five.
Sweat still drips down my back as I bend down to grab my pants. T-shirts. Athletic pants. All embossed with the Ice Kings logo because the marketing and promo departments are constantly shoving new gear into our hands. I have dresser drawers full of shirts and pants and baskets filled with hats. I have enough boxer briefs to last for a year without once doing laundry if I want the Ice Kings logo slapped all over my ass and balls.
A jolt slaps my shoulder and my hands slip from my waistband.
“You coming out with us tonight?”
I turn to Sawyer Chauncy, one of our team’s first line defensemen. The guy who slapped my shoulder. His long brown hair hangs to his shoulders, soaking his shirt. “What? Where?”
“Out. Want a few drinks but in quiet. You in? Maddox is coming and Taylor might too.”
“Which one?”
Jude and Jason Taylor are brothers, four years apart in age. Both are our starting wingers and two of the best men I have the honor of knowing.
“Jason. Jude already took off. Said Katie has the weekend off work and doesn’t want to be away from her.”
Where Jude fell in love with his college girlfriend during last season when he was injured, for the three years I’ve been on the team, Jason’s had a parade of women rotating in and out of his life.
Which is more than I can say for me. I’ve had one woman. One incredible weekend.
One weekend where I put aside the focus I’ve had on hockey since I was a little kid and took an opportunity that literally, fell into my lap.
One weekend where I decided after being a virgin until the age of twenty-three, one-night stands are not my thing. Don’t get me wrong. I loved every second of learning how to work a woman’s body. Putting my fantasies to real-life experiences is something I’ll never forget.
But in the end? I want to learn what one woman likes. Learn her body so well I can get her off and make her come and scream my name with an easy touch, knowing exactly what she craves and how she wants it. I at least want to know it means something to the woman I’m with.
Which means, since the weekend I lost my virginity to a puck bunny who didn’t care at all when I gently kicked her out of my condo a couple days later, my weekend of fun over, I have not been with another woman.
Honestly, I want what Jude has with Katie.
What Chauncy has with his longtime girlfriend Debbie.
And what Byron Maddox, our goalie, has with his wife, Hannah.
“Yo, Lutzgo!” Speak of the devil. Maddox walks around the corner, fresh from the shower and wearing nothing.
Maddox wears clothes so infrequently it’s possible I’ve seen his dick more than I’ve seen my own. “You coming tonight? I’ll swing by and pick you up later. Around eight.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in. Sounds good.”
I can drive myself, but if Maddox is offering that means he won’t drink. Something not a lot of guys do much of anyway during the season. But that means I can. And I have stress to kick to the curb.
The beginning of the season is always the worst. The stress of wondering who improved more than me over the off-season—hint, not many, but it can happen. Which new players will be called up from the farm leagues. Who will be sent down. Who will still be traded, or their dreams destroyed completely. The first few weeks of training camp and exhibition games which are only a few weeks away has everyone on edge.
Me more than most.
My VISA allows me to stay in the United States as long as I stay on a professional hockey team. And there is no way I ever want to return to Denmark.
The coach’s compliments feel good, but they’re not enough. His opinion of what the team needs is not the only one that matters.
“I’ll see you at eight, then.”
“Where are we headed?”
“George’s. A night to chill.”
Some night the guys go to clubs. Loud music. Sore throats the next morning from having to scream to be heard. Fans. Puck bunnies. I do not want that tonight. He must see my shoulders slump with relief.
“Hey. You okay?”
Out of everyone on the team, I’m closest with Maddox. When I showed up, fresh off the plane from Denmark, I was only twenty years old and Maddox was already one of the best goalies in the league. He’s also the largest guy on our team, the meanest looking and his personality is not much nicer. The man is gruff. A boar in the most fragile of tea shops. The first six months on the team, I was certain he hated my guts. Over time, he started treating me like his younger brother, Seth.
“I am fine.” I grab my gear back and shut the oversized locker. “Busy. Sore from working out.”
Not all are lies.
“You look good out there. Gelled well with Hendrix. You have nothin’ to worry about, eh?”
“Thank you.” I slap his shoulder and start to head out. If he’s coming at eight to get me, I have enough time to get home, throw in an additional bodyweight-only workout, eat, and shower before he gets there.
“See you later.”
I’m looking forward to it. My teammates are my family. Not built by blood and expectations, but mutual respect.
Plus, George’s bar is great. He’s never let it leak that’s where we like to hang when we want to be with the team and their wives or girlfriends even though it could mean a huge jump in business for him. Which means we can relax, have a few drinks, talk about whatever we want and not have to worry about fans demanding our time and attention.