Read Online Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel by Sophia Henry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sophia Henry
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glimpse to see if we had more similarities.
“Not mad at me anymore?” Aleksandr’s question caught my attention in time for me to see him send the ball back to me.
I stopped it with my left foot. “I’m over it. I just want to finish out the month.” Which was true. I’d taken Kristen and Gram’s advice to heart. His prank could’ve been a hundred times worse. I could handle a few more weeks of his immature shenanigans.
“You’re going to get back at me by kicking my ass out there, aren’t you?” He nodded to the field.
“Scared?” I asked. I can’t be sure, but I think I puffed out my chest—chimpanzee-challenge style.
“Stand down, Berezin.” Aleksandr held his palms up in front of his chest. “I deserve whatever you give me.”
“It’s all in good fun, Sasha, ” I said, rocketing the ball at him. He jumped, and the ball bounced off his broad chest and onto the ground near his feet.
I’d be using the Russian diminutive of his name in public from now on. If anyone noticed that Audushka, the diminutive he’d created from my name, sounded like a feminine care product, they could tease him because his sounded like a girl’s name.
Aleksandr kicked the ball. I followed it as it sailed over my head and dropped in front of Drew.
“Game on!” Drew yelled. He gave Aleksandr an evil-eye assessment. It reminded me of an overprotective father meeting his daughter’s date for the first time, just before telling the poor kid he had a shotgun.
“That’s English for, I’m about to kick your ass out there, ” I said to Aleksandr, then turned my back and darted to the other side of the field.
I wondered if any of the guys knew he understood English. Not that it mattered. They probably just figured that even a foreigner could pick up curse words and soccer slang.
“Good luck!” Aleksandr called to my retreating figure.
“I’m not the one who’ll need it,” I sang over my shoulder. Confidence was so easy on the soccer field. Out here, I ignored the ridiculous way my heart pounded around him.
The group divided into teams in a quick, militaristic manner. I would be playing opposite both Aleksandr and Drew. In any other situation in my life, I would’ve been timid and nervous about not having a friend on my team, but this was soccer. On the field, I stepped out of my body and ignored my hypervigilant, overanalytical mind. On the field, I talked trash and kicked ass. If Aleksandr thought he could beat me at my own game, he’d better think again.
It was an intense and fast-paced match. I played center midfield for the first half, setting up one goal and scoring another. I’d railed through the defense without having to throw any elbows, as I’d expected. This group played no-referee soccer. No red or yellow penalty cards. The boys never took it easy on me, which I learned the hard way the first time I’d played with them and left the field with a set of bruised ribs. The injury taught me to defend myself better and I learned a few dirty tricks.
In the second half of the game, I moved back to play defense. Despite both of my team’s goals in the first half, Aleksandr’s team had scored three against mine. The score held at 3–2 through most of the second half. We didn’t have a time keeper, so the game would end when both teams decided we’d played long enough. And my teammates weren’t finished yet.
Jason, the dirty blond that Aleksandr had called my twin, had taken my place at center mid. He booted the ball up the field to catch one of our forwards on the fly. Drew sprinted between the forwards, intercepting the pass, and soon he was in our zone, dribbling the ball down the field with a burst of speed and intensity. He passed the ball to a teammate on his left without even a side glance. The ball went out-of-bounds off the foot of our defender.
As I walked backward toward the goal, I noticed Aleksandr was my man to cover. We jostled for position as his teammate got ready to
“Not mad at me anymore?” Aleksandr’s question caught my attention in time for me to see him send the ball back to me.
I stopped it with my left foot. “I’m over it. I just want to finish out the month.” Which was true. I’d taken Kristen and Gram’s advice to heart. His prank could’ve been a hundred times worse. I could handle a few more weeks of his immature shenanigans.
“You’re going to get back at me by kicking my ass out there, aren’t you?” He nodded to the field.
“Scared?” I asked. I can’t be sure, but I think I puffed out my chest—chimpanzee-challenge style.
“Stand down, Berezin.” Aleksandr held his palms up in front of his chest. “I deserve whatever you give me.”
“It’s all in good fun, Sasha, ” I said, rocketing the ball at him. He jumped, and the ball bounced off his broad chest and onto the ground near his feet.
I’d be using the Russian diminutive of his name in public from now on. If anyone noticed that Audushka, the diminutive he’d created from my name, sounded like a feminine care product, they could tease him because his sounded like a girl’s name.
Aleksandr kicked the ball. I followed it as it sailed over my head and dropped in front of Drew.
“Game on!” Drew yelled. He gave Aleksandr an evil-eye assessment. It reminded me of an overprotective father meeting his daughter’s date for the first time, just before telling the poor kid he had a shotgun.
“That’s English for, I’m about to kick your ass out there, ” I said to Aleksandr, then turned my back and darted to the other side of the field.
I wondered if any of the guys knew he understood English. Not that it mattered. They probably just figured that even a foreigner could pick up curse words and soccer slang.
“Good luck!” Aleksandr called to my retreating figure.
“I’m not the one who’ll need it,” I sang over my shoulder. Confidence was so easy on the soccer field. Out here, I ignored the ridiculous way my heart pounded around him.
The group divided into teams in a quick, militaristic manner. I would be playing opposite both Aleksandr and Drew. In any other situation in my life, I would’ve been timid and nervous about not having a friend on my team, but this was soccer. On the field, I stepped out of my body and ignored my hypervigilant, overanalytical mind. On the field, I talked trash and kicked ass. If Aleksandr thought he could beat me at my own game, he’d better think again.
It was an intense and fast-paced match. I played center midfield for the first half, setting up one goal and scoring another. I’d railed through the defense without having to throw any elbows, as I’d expected. This group played no-referee soccer. No red or yellow penalty cards. The boys never took it easy on me, which I learned the hard way the first time I’d played with them and left the field with a set of bruised ribs. The injury taught me to defend myself better and I learned a few dirty tricks.
In the second half of the game, I moved back to play defense. Despite both of my team’s goals in the first half, Aleksandr’s team had scored three against mine. The score held at 3–2 through most of the second half. We didn’t have a time keeper, so the game would end when both teams decided we’d played long enough. And my teammates weren’t finished yet.
Jason, the dirty blond that Aleksandr had called my twin, had taken my place at center mid. He booted the ball up the field to catch one of our forwards on the fly. Drew sprinted between the forwards, intercepting the pass, and soon he was in our zone, dribbling the ball down the field with a burst of speed and intensity. He passed the ball to a teammate on his left without even a side glance. The ball went out-of-bounds off the foot of our defender.
As I walked backward toward the goal, I noticed Aleksandr was my man to cover. We jostled for position as his teammate got ready to
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