Read Online Power Play (Center Ice Book 2) by Katherine Stark - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine Stark
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he says. “We play together well. When I give you the puck, you play it.”
“Well, Coach doesn’t seem to think so.”
Sergei runs his tongue against the edge of his teeth, like he’s plotting something. “Let us hit the ice together. We’ll see what we can do. Yes?”
“I’d really appreciate it, man. Thank you.”
He laughs to himself, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Don’t be thanking me yet.”
All too quickly, I find out just what he means.
Sergei Drakonov is brutal. He runs me through dozens of drills, enlisting Erik Magnussen, Tommy Banks, and a few other of our Defense guys to run screens while Sergei tries to snake the puck to me. Most of the time, I’m able to position myself just right to catch his pass and fend off the D-mens’ attacks.
But not every time.
It’s not Sergei’s fault. The guy’s a fucking demon, slipping the puck around all kinds of ungodly configurations. I can’t blame him a bit. I’m just not able to read every pass correctly, and predict right where the puck’s going to land.
“You watch the puck too much,” Sergei tells me, sliding up to me for a chat. “You do not watch me.”
I arch one eyebrow at that. “But I’d have to take my eye off the puck to do that.”
“No. You can do both. See? Like so.” His expression softens, almost unfocused, but I don’t doubt that he isn’t missing a thing. “Is not . . . what is phrase?” He beckons one of the team translators over, and they shoot some Russian back and forth, rapidfire.
“He says that you’re treating it like a zero-sum game,” the translator offers. “That this ain’t the goddamn Cold War, and you have to stay open to all possibilities.”
I start laughing. Of fucking course.
Here I’d accused Fiona of thinking everything is either-or, and now I’m doing the same damn thing.
“All right. I got it.” I roll my shoulders back and loosen up. “Let’s try it again.”
“I might be able to get us free tickets,” I tell Mariko, as we weave through the Chinatown crowd in front of the Eagles ticket office. “Emphasis on might . But if not, maybe we can catch a movie, or just get drinks . . .”
“I don’t care.” She smiles and bashes her mittened hands together to warm up. “Thanks for asking me to come out with you.”
I return the smile, despite the tight fist clenched in my gut. I shouldn’t have invited Mariko. Yes, it’s true that I need to make more of an effort to have actual ‘friends’ instead of merely co-workers and colleagues. But if Marcus was just giving me a load of pillow talk, and there’s no tickets waiting for us, I’m going to be seriously embarrassed.
Worse than embarrassed. A little disappointed.
I square my shoulders. But I can’t afford to think that way. If last night was all there was to the story of Marcus and me—so what? I’ll live. I’ve lived through worse. At least he seemed eager in the moment, and not frustrated with me and my dominating personality, like every other flippin’ guy I’ve slept with.
Oh. And that filthy mouth of his. And those clever, clever hands . . .
No, Fi. Focus. Enjoy an evening out with a friend. Right? A friend? You can make those, too.
Even if you can’t keep a guy for longer than it takes you to get dressed.
I reach the front of the Will Call line. “Hi, yeah, um. Tickets for Callahan? Fiona Callahan?”
“Sure, one second.”
The attendant flips through her box of reserved tickets. Makes it through all of the Cs, frowns, then starts back at the beginning. The fist in my gut starts to punch through. I’m a big, goddamned fool.
“Oh. Here we go. Someone put it in the Bs by accident.” She pulls out a slender folder. “Two tickets, right?”
I let out my breath. “That’s right.”
After she checks my idea, I strut back to Mariko and flash her the tickets. She squeals and bounces in place.
“Ohmigosh, Fi, you are so cool ! I had no idea you had connections to
“Well, Coach doesn’t seem to think so.”
Sergei runs his tongue against the edge of his teeth, like he’s plotting something. “Let us hit the ice together. We’ll see what we can do. Yes?”
“I’d really appreciate it, man. Thank you.”
He laughs to himself, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Don’t be thanking me yet.”
All too quickly, I find out just what he means.
Sergei Drakonov is brutal. He runs me through dozens of drills, enlisting Erik Magnussen, Tommy Banks, and a few other of our Defense guys to run screens while Sergei tries to snake the puck to me. Most of the time, I’m able to position myself just right to catch his pass and fend off the D-mens’ attacks.
But not every time.
It’s not Sergei’s fault. The guy’s a fucking demon, slipping the puck around all kinds of ungodly configurations. I can’t blame him a bit. I’m just not able to read every pass correctly, and predict right where the puck’s going to land.
“You watch the puck too much,” Sergei tells me, sliding up to me for a chat. “You do not watch me.”
I arch one eyebrow at that. “But I’d have to take my eye off the puck to do that.”
“No. You can do both. See? Like so.” His expression softens, almost unfocused, but I don’t doubt that he isn’t missing a thing. “Is not . . . what is phrase?” He beckons one of the team translators over, and they shoot some Russian back and forth, rapidfire.
“He says that you’re treating it like a zero-sum game,” the translator offers. “That this ain’t the goddamn Cold War, and you have to stay open to all possibilities.”
I start laughing. Of fucking course.
Here I’d accused Fiona of thinking everything is either-or, and now I’m doing the same damn thing.
“All right. I got it.” I roll my shoulders back and loosen up. “Let’s try it again.”
“I might be able to get us free tickets,” I tell Mariko, as we weave through the Chinatown crowd in front of the Eagles ticket office. “Emphasis on might . But if not, maybe we can catch a movie, or just get drinks . . .”
“I don’t care.” She smiles and bashes her mittened hands together to warm up. “Thanks for asking me to come out with you.”
I return the smile, despite the tight fist clenched in my gut. I shouldn’t have invited Mariko. Yes, it’s true that I need to make more of an effort to have actual ‘friends’ instead of merely co-workers and colleagues. But if Marcus was just giving me a load of pillow talk, and there’s no tickets waiting for us, I’m going to be seriously embarrassed.
Worse than embarrassed. A little disappointed.
I square my shoulders. But I can’t afford to think that way. If last night was all there was to the story of Marcus and me—so what? I’ll live. I’ve lived through worse. At least he seemed eager in the moment, and not frustrated with me and my dominating personality, like every other flippin’ guy I’ve slept with.
Oh. And that filthy mouth of his. And those clever, clever hands . . .
No, Fi. Focus. Enjoy an evening out with a friend. Right? A friend? You can make those, too.
Even if you can’t keep a guy for longer than it takes you to get dressed.
I reach the front of the Will Call line. “Hi, yeah, um. Tickets for Callahan? Fiona Callahan?”
“Sure, one second.”
The attendant flips through her box of reserved tickets. Makes it through all of the Cs, frowns, then starts back at the beginning. The fist in my gut starts to punch through. I’m a big, goddamned fool.
“Oh. Here we go. Someone put it in the Bs by accident.” She pulls out a slender folder. “Two tickets, right?”
I let out my breath. “That’s right.”
After she checks my idea, I strut back to Mariko and flash her the tickets. She squeals and bounces in place.
“Ohmigosh, Fi, you are so cool ! I had no idea you had connections to
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