Heated Rivalry, page 9
I scoffed. “I won’t.”
Skylar took the assignment and flashed it in front of my face. “You will, because you didn’t even read the instructions. Each question is to be answered accordingly one by one before we start with the meal plan. If you answer half and I answer half the meal plan won’t make any sense. It’s better if we go one by one.”
I snatched the paper away from him and read it again. The bastard was right. I gritted my teeth, slamming the paper down. Skylar’s smile grew. I read over the first question, and I scowled when I realized why this would be 50% of our final grade. Question number one: Create a nutritional guide for a professional soccer player who’s lactose intolerant during the competitive season. Address pre-match meals, halftime fueling, and post-match recovery nutrition, considering the demands of the sport. Fuck. What the hell?
“Why don’t we start with the pre-match meals? I think that’s more important and keeping the player on the mark from the start will make things better for how the game goes too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you know how pretentious you sound? Fine, what do you have in mind?”
Skylar ignored the jab and continued, “A bowl of brown rice, grilled chicken and avocados. It’s the optimal choice for pre-match energy. It provides lasting fuel for the entire game.”
“Brown rice? Seriously? A balanced mix of carbs and protein, like a grilled salmon and quinoa bowl, is far more suitable.”
“Quinoa is a good alternative, but I wouldn’t choose it in this circumstance.”
I scowled at him. “Why not? Quinoa is considered a complete protein, meaning it contains all essential amino acids, brown rice is not a complete protein.”
Skylar’s jaw ticked. “I agree, and although both brown rice and quinoa are good sources of complex carbohydrates, brown rice has a lower glycemic index, which means it has a slower impact on blood sugar levels. It’s more beneficial for sustained energy during prolonged physical activity like soccer.”
I thought about it and realized he was right. Quinoa was good but too light for some athletes, meaning that they’d be hungry again within a few hours thus burning most of their energy.
“Prick,” I muttered, and Skylar laughed.
“You do know I’m writing my thesis in Teaching and Physical Education, right? Or did you just think I was a pretty face?”
“You’re not even that pretty,” I mumbled back and then realized why he seemed to be so knowledgeable about the subject. “That makes sense. So, I’m assuming after you graduate you won’t be going pro.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Skylar said, and I frowned at the words.
Most people who played hockey had that goal, especially if they played at the university level. Why did I have the feeling that Skylar was different? “You don’t want to go to the NHL?” I probed.
“Fuck no,” Skylar scoffed as if I were crazy for suggesting it.
“Why not?”
“Personal preferences. Not everyone wants to be the next Patrick Roy or Tuukka Rask,” he snorted.
“Why not? You’re a damn good player, I’m sure you’d definitely have your name up there in a few years—”
“Are we working on this assignment or not?” Skylar snapped at me.
Touche. I rolled my eyes and went back to the assignment. “Fine. What about the Halftime? I think it deserves something light for a quick boost. A banana and a homemade electrolyte drink are ideal.”
“A banana is fine, but you also need substantial carbs and protein,” Skylar agreed and scribbled down our answers in his notebook.
“Okay, so then how about a turkey and avocado wrap on whole-grain bread?” I suggested.
“Post-match recovery is crucial. I swear by a protein smoothie with almond milk—it offers the right ratio of carbs and protein for muscle recovery.”
“Almond milk? Seriously? A nutrient-rich smoothie with mixed berries and Greek yogurt is a more effective choice.”
“Why don’t you just tell him to stick his head in the toilet and drink the water?” Skylar glared at me. “This guy is lactose intolerant, dumbass. That’s why I suggested almond milk.”
I grabbed the assignment and realized with a start that he was right… again. Damn it. I threw the paper on the table. “Whatever.”
Skylar’s mouth twitched, and he went to the assignment. My phone buzzed and Amhara’s name popped up on the screen. Join us next time! Her text message read, and I opened it to see a picture of her and Marcy building a pillow fort. I laughed at the photo and then put my phone down. Skylar’s eyes tracked the movement before they snapped back up to mine. “Girlfriend?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I sneered. “But a friend.”
“You’re out?” Skylar’s brows rose. “I thought for sure you weren’t and that’s why you didn’t want me to fuck with Carter.”
“Of course, I’m out,” I snapped at him. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Just curious,” Skylar said with a shrug. “You don’t look like the type.”
I scoffed a laugh. “And what is the type? Fucking everything with two legs?”
“Something like that,” Skylar said. “Fuck anything at least, Black. You’re wound tight. Why don’t you let me help you release some of that tension?”
All the air whooshed from my lungs as I stared at him incredulously. Just a few days ago, he was sucking off my best friend, and he had the gall to proposition me? I thought about Carter’s smile this morning and how hurt he might be if he found out that Skylar and I hooked up first. Carter said he wasn’t looking for anything serious, but this was his first time. Feelings could develop whether or not he wanted them to.
“Not in a million years."
Something squirmed in my belly when I saw his muscles flex beneath his sweater. Skylar’s frame was massive. Powerful. Those hands alone were corded with veins running the length of his forearms.
His eyes turned hooded, and he leaned over the desk toward me. “Why not? You enjoyed it so much last time. I can make it good for you Devon.”
I should have told him to shut up, but my tongue was cloven to the roof of my mouth. Skylar’s cinnamon scent washed over me. It had been years since I allowed myself to be taken again. Not after that last time. Blood roared in my ears and heat pooled in my stomach, licking in torrent flames down my spine. A thick syrupy fog engulfed my brain, and it was too late before I realized I was considering it. Him.
“Stop it,” I snarled, my chest heaving.
Skylar licked his lips, then looked away. The moment broke between us, and I was glad for it. I wouldn’t do that to Carter. No matter how much the bastard turned me on. I wouldn’t let Skylar play us both.
“I think you’re right,” Skylar spoke, but his voice was low and husky. “You can do the first five and I’ll do the last. That way we can finish faster.”
My breath caught. “I thought you said—”
“I was wrong. Plus, you wanted to be rid of me, right? So, let’s hurry up and get it over with.”
Disappointment flooded me, but I understood. Skylar didn’t like being toyed with either. This push-and-pull thing we had going on needed to stop. “Fine.”
“Fine.” He went back to studying and so did I.
10
Feuding Hearts
Devon Black
“Stupid Skylar and his stupid hazel eyes,” I muttered under my breath. My heart slammed against my ribcage as I skated down the rink, feeling the wind slice against my cheeks. I thought about our last conversation and how it ended in stony silence . I hate how he makes me feel. Hot. Hard. Unhinged. Skylar’s eyes were like a forest shrouded in mist. His grin was slow and sleek, like a serpent, twisting across his lips. I hate how my pulse sped up like a crescendo, mounting and mounting until I thought I was ready to burst. Damn him. The way his eyes glittered in the light with mischievous, or the way his pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips. He was fucking with me. I knew it. The worst part of it was I wanted him to.
Vaulting into the shot felt like riding a powerful wave, the energy building beneath me before crashing into the puck. It went flying but sailed home inside the net. I spun, skating down the rink and right back into formation to slapshot another. And another. My lungs burned with exhaustion, but I didn’t care. Everything was crashing down on me, and I didn’t even know what was up.
I was wound tight. So, fucking tight.
A part of me begged for release. For something. Anything Skylar could offer. It would be good. He’d fuck me hard and fast into the mattress how I liked it. No strings attached. Dirty. Filthy. Then we’d part ways like it never happened, except the guilt would claw at me. I knew Carter had feelings for Skylar, whether or not he wanted to acknowledge them, and I couldn’t do that to my best friend. Fuck. I stilled, digging the heel of my gloved hand into my eyes. “Get a grip.”
There were so many other things I needed to focus on. School. Graduation. Marcy. Nationals. Not getting my ass pounded. A loud clanking noise made my head snap up, and I saw Skylar entering the rink in his goalie gear. Speak of the devil.
“Want to practice?” he asked, skating towards me. “You look like you could use a partner.”
It was almost impossible to tell his expression with his helmet on, but I knew the bastard was smirking. “Actually, I was just leaving,” I lied. After our last conversation, I thought things were clear between us. We’d only work on the assignment and that’s it. Skylar was too flirtatious for my liking, and I didn’t want to hurt Carter.
Skylar rolled his shoulders. “Doesn’t look like it. It looks like you were just warming up.”
I gritted my teeth. “So? I can’t stay here now that you’re here, polluting my clean air with your perfume of desperation.”
Skylar barked a laugh. “Do you think I’m following you? Don’t flatter yourself, Black. Now are you done talking? Why don’t we play?”
I scowled at him. “You know I can’t get past your defence, so how exactly would this be playing?”
“Just try. You might learn something,” Skylar taunted, getting into formation. “Your problem is that you’re too much of a bull in a China shop. I can see you barreling down the rink a mile away.”
“So?” I snapped.
“So…why not practice the art of subtly?” Skylar proposed. “Here, let me show you.” He took off his helmet and gloves, tossed them inside the net, and then came up beside me. I tensed when his hand slid over mine. “Relax. I don’t bite. Much.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat thrumming through my veins.
“Okay, watch carefully,” he spoke, using his hand to rest on my hip as he guided me through the play. “Keep your eye on the goalie, not the puck, and see which side the goalie favours,” Skylar said, his breath visible in the frigid air. He skated towards the net, his movements fluid and purposeful and I followed. As we stood near the goal, Skylar placed his hand on my stick, guiding its movement with a gentle touch. His warm breath tickled my ear, making me blush against the icy air.
“Then once he’s distracted, you move quickly.” Skylar darted out until he reached the back of the net, Skylar deftly guided the puck with the tip of his stick. His skates carved a quick path, and in an instant, he was on the other side of the goal. With a swift motion, Skylar tucked the puck into the net from the opposite side.
“Shit,” I whispered, my eyes widening. “Wraparound goal?” It was the oldest trick in the book, but damn good when it came to playing long games. Skylar was right. My method needed some work.
Skylar nodded, then picked up his helmet and gloves. “If you can perfect that, then your playing will be seamless.”
“Thanks,” I said, reluctantly. Not that it wasn’t good advice, I just didn’t want to inflate his ego more than it already was. “How’d you learn so much about hockey?”
“My dad,” Skylar clipped. “Now, are we playing or what? Or did you just want to bore me to death with small talk?”
“Jackass,” I muttered, then got into formation ready to play.
***
We played for several hours until we called it quits. I had to pick up Marcy in a few hours from ballet, and then hurry home to study for my own exams coming up. Skylar grinned, catching his breath as we sat on the bench after an intense game. The cold air around us carried the lingering scent of the ice as we exchanged glances. Skylar’s hair stuck to his brow as he drank blue Gatorade from the bottle.
“You know,” Skylar began, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “back when I played for the Mountain Mavericks, we had this hilarious tradition. Whenever someone scored their first goal of the season, they had to wear this ridiculous costume for the rest of the day.”
“What kind of costumes are we talking about?”
“Oh, it ranged from inflatable dinosaurs to tutus, you name it. Once, our captain ended up scoring his first goal wearing a full banana suit. Skating down the rink, scoring goals, and entertaining the crowd—it was amazing.”
“Sounds badass,” I laughed. “Why did you leave, anyway?”
“Long story. I got injured and by then I realized I didn’t want to go back,” Skylar responded, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. His jaw was tight. I got the feeling talking about his past unnerved him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I thought about doing something crazy like that, but it’s too late now. The season is over.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Skylar said, his gaze slanted to him. “I think you’d look amazing in a tutu.”
I rolled my eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. Pink is your color.” Skylar leaned toward me. “Especially, when I peel it off. I’m sure you’d look even more delicious.”
“Are you finished?” I glared at him. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that?” Skylar’s gaze darkened.
“You know—that stuff—you are dating Carter or whatever and I don’t want to get wrapped up in that.”
“I sucked Carter off,” Skylar said smoothly. “I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound like a date.”
“Whatever,” I growled. “We can hang out, but we’re not doing whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“Which is?” Skylar rose a brow.
I glared at him. “You know what. Flirting. We aren’t flirting.”
Skylar rolled his eyes and started packing up his stuff. “If you were twice as smart as you are now, you’d be stupid.” He walked out, leaving me sitting there fuming. What an ass. I was trying to be the grown-up here and all he did was make things harder for me. Carter was my best friend. What was he trying to do? Drive a wedge between us? Yet, an inkling inside me made me think it wasn’t what Skylar wanted to do. I chewed on my bottom lip, staring at the fluorescent lights in the ceilings. We had a game in a few days, and by then, things would be better.
I’d play. Get my head back on track. There was too much to focus on other than who Skylar was fucking this week.
He was too much of a distraction. A dangerous one.
My stomach clenched when I realized it was too late.
I’m already distracted.
***
Wisps of icy mist dance above the rink, the cold tendrils intertwine with the energy emanating from the buzzing crowd. I gripped my stick tighter, sighing through my nose as everyone lined up to go out. It was game night. We were playing against the Titans, and I could see a few scouts in the audience speaking to Coach Leroy. My chest tightened and a wave of nervousness engulfed my senses. This is it.
Our team would win and then we’d be off to the National Championships. From there I’d probably get drafted and then to who knows what else. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do. Marcy was in the early stages of development, what if I missed too much? What if she needed me and I wasn’t around? Amhara and Marcy were sitting near the front, holding up big signs and waving them around manically. I snorted a laugh, but my heart melted at Marcy’s little beanie hat that had cat ears on it.
I walked back into the locker room, trying to clear my head while the rest of the guys were finishing up and getting in line.
“Are you good?” Carter asked, holding his stick.
“Fine. Just nervous. Gather the team, I’ll say a few words, and then—”
The door banged open, and Skylar ran into the room, rushing to get his gear on. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m late. You can shoot me later,” he muttered, tearing off his shirt and tossing it in his bag. I tried to ignore all the expanse of smooth skin on display and looked away. Clearing my throat, I turned to look at Carter who had a light flush on his cheeks.
“Carter,” I barked.
“Huh?” He jumped.
“Gather the guys for our pregame rally.”
“Oh. Right.” Carter scurried off to get everyone together before we went out onto the ice. Skylar was slamming his stuff into his bag so loudly that a spark of irritation flared in my chest. Then he jerked too hard on his bag, knocking everything over and spilling its contents onto the floor. Rolling my eyes, I strode over to him and helped him pick up his stuff.
“Sorry, must have slipped,” he muttered.
“We’re about to rally so hurry up,” I snapped at him, then reached down to pick up a bottle of medication that rolled underneath the bench. Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. Huh? My brows furrowed wondering why someone like Skylar would be on Antidepressants. Skylar snatched it from my hands and shot me a dirty look. He quickly dressed, and I went to the front of the room.
I stood in the center of the locker room, surrounded by my teammates, each one geared up and ready for the impending battle on the ice. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of excitement and nostalgia, knowing that our time together as a team was drawing to a close.
“Listen up, everyone,” I declared, my voice carrying through the room. “Tonight, we face the Titans, and it’s not just another game. It’s a testament to the bond we’ve built on this ice. Next year, things will change, but let’s make tonight count. Remember our motto: On Ice, We Strike Twice!”
