I miss yet another easy pass and toss my stick across the ice. It’s a stupid, hotheaded move, and it doesn’t look good on me, especially when it’s just us playing against each other as a team.

Bowman skates by and claps me on the shoulder, getting in close. It looks friendly, but it’s not. “Don’t take your frustration out on your own team, Winslow. Maybe you need a time-out so you can watch how the big boys do it before you pick up a stick again.” Ah, here’s the real version of Bowman, not that Captain America shit he tries to sell people on. This is how he and I are with one another.

“Is that your version of a pep talk, Captain? It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I was playing the position I trained for.”

“And have your attitude messing up my line?” He cocks a brow. “You need to work out your issues somewhere other than the ice.”

“This good-guy routine you’ve got going is bullshit.” I shake him off.

Bowman frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I shake my head and skate over to the bench before I do what I normally would when Bowman used to needle me on the ice—react with aggression. Instead, I grab a drink of water so I don’t say or do something more regrettable than throwing a temper tantrum.

“Winslow, why don’t you take two.” Coach Waters pats the bench beside him.

Giving my team captain attitude is one thing, but giving it to the coach is another. I sigh and clomp over to where he’s sitting, dropping onto the bench beside him.

“I’m not used to defense.” I watch the guys on the ice, the puck sliding back and forth between Bowman and Bender, a forward who used to play for Colorado before the expansion draft.

“I can see that.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, I’m forced to look at him.

“Anything else going on that I need to know about?”

I figure I have to give him something. “Just some family stuff. Nothing I really want to get into.”

He nods and flips a puck back and forth between his fingers. “I know it’s tough getting used to a new team, especially when we’re moving you around to see where you fit best. You got a lot of size and a versatile skill set, which I can see you want to use, but you can’t be trying to score the goals and protect your goalie at the same time, eh?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just getting my head around the change, I guess.”

“That’s fair, but you gotta give it an honest shot here, Winslow. All these guys are in the same boat as you. I know it can be hard, morale-wise, especially when you’re coming together with a bunch of guys you haven’t played with before. Just remember we’re all on the same side.”

“Yeah, I get it. It all makes logical sense.”

“If you need to talk it out, let me know. I’m here to problem-solve.”

“Right, yeah. Thanks.” I’m not interested in a therapy session with my new coach, particularly since Bowman is already tucked into his back pocket.

I hit the ice again, but I’m still distracted. Exhibition games start soon, and I need to get a handle on my position before that happens. The last thing I want is to end up being third or fourth line and getting less ice time, which would put me further from my goal instead of closer.

I have a two-year contract with Seattle, but they could trade me next year if I don’t work out. Being moved again after one year on an expansion team won’t look good for me. It could be the difference between not getting another contract or, worse, being dropped back to a farm team, especially if I can’t manage the shift to defense, if that’s where they plan to keep me. Which is something I can’t afford when I have a brother who needs solid medical for as long as he’s here. I need to give Nolan the best chance I can, and that means checking my attitude, as difficult as that might be for someone like me.

CHAPTER 6

EXHIBITIONIST GAMES

Stevie

Despite my asshole neighbor calling me out on my spyish behavior, and my accusing him of being a total man-whore, we continue the seminaked morning-paper-retrieval trend. In fact, it’s escalated thanks to me. I can’t even defend myself, because seeing him in his underwear every morning has become some kind of weird obsession. To the point where I get up early on Wednesdays so I can have my morning paper underwear competition.

He might be a jerk, but he’s nice to look at. Also, since he’s a huge dick, I don’t feel even remotely bad for objectifying him.

Over the past several days I’ve started switching it up in the morning. I grab my paper five minutes earlier than usual on Tuesday, and half a second after I open my door, Jerkwad does too. The next day I’m seven minutes late, and still, there he is. Every single day I match his weird underwear with a different sports bra and running shorts. I even bought new ones so I could keep up with the ostentatious patterns he seems to favor. Like I said, it’s borderline obsessive.

I’m pretty sure this is his way of trying to make me feel like an ass for keeping tabs on the women coming and going from his place. But come on—there were at least five women in the first two weeks, not counting the housekeeper, if that’s even what she is.

I have a super-early morning on Friday. I’m helping out a client who desperately needs the PT but is going out of town for the weekend, so I schedule her in at five thirty. It means I’m out the door hours before the paper is even delivered.