Pucker Up

Chapter Three: Hudson

Hudson Winters P.O.V

"Man... when Bobby started repeating what I had said about puck bunny season, I knew I was in for it," Liam remarked to the team while we undressed in the locker room. He was sitting on the bench, helmet abandoned on the floor but still in full equipment otherwise, absolutely shell-shocked as were the rest of us. Liam reluctantly retold the story of our encounter with Bobby before practice started when none of them understood her comment about puck bunny season. Suffice it to say, they gave him shit for it. "But I thought the dude was pissed because I hit on his girlfriend... I never expected our assistant coach to be the same chick I said all those things to."

We nodded in agreement. None of us could believe our assistant coach who had dangled us better than any of the guys on the ice today, who skated harder and faster than anyone I had ever played against in my life, was a girl.

"That's your own fault for hitting on anything with boobs," Archer reprimanded, pulling the tape from his pads and crumpling it up into a ball before throwing it at Liam's head. I met Archer a few days ago but already felt like we were old buds. He was welcoming and had a way of diffusing any awkward tension with a joke. He was last year's assistant captain and hoped to nab the top-tier spot up for grabs this season. "She could have ended your hockey career right then and there."

Liam's face paled, taking in just how much influence this girl could have on his future career— and all of the nasty stuff he had said about her earlier today. If he was cut from the college team, scouts wouldn't see him play, and no higher-up league would want him.

"She's probably not like that," I reassured him, half talking out of my ass. It was a big assumption. I couldn't be too sure what she was like either, and I was less experienced in how people acted over here than they were. Maybe Minnesotans held grudges. I didn't know anything about this girl, other than she could kick ass on the ice. But I was sure a girl like that, one who led skillful drills and knew the exact corrections to make, would have done more than three lousy runs of suicides at the end of tryouts if she planned on punishing Liam.

"Chicks hold grudges forever and they never forget a single thing," Archer added, eyes wide. He removed his chest plate and placed a hand over his heart. "I'm going to miss you this season, Eminem."

The guys snickered at his comment and kept throwing theories about her ploys to kill Liam back and forth. As much as I wanted to take advantage of the laid-back conversation and bond with the team in any way possible, I was too drained right now to think about anything other than getting this equipment off and hopping into my warm shower at my apartment. I hated showering in the locker rooms with all the other guys— shit water pressure, no privacy, none of my products, and I couldn't take as long as I wanted. I took long showers; long enough to plan adventure itineraries, imagine full conversations, and overthink a million little things while soaping up. With how much I sweat in today's practice, I tried not to smell myself but my stench mixed with all the other boys' too was beyond unbearable. The coaches worked us hard today.

A knock resounded on the locker room door and Coach Jackson walked in without waiting for an answer. We began to stand as he entered the room, a sign of respect, but he quickly squashed that with a wave of his hand.

"Sit down. I don't know how you have the energy to stand right now," he joked, looking at those of us sprawled out on the bench knowingly. I couldn't agree more; I had played competitive hockey all my life, and I had been training nonstop during the off-season, but I hadn't seen a workout like that in a while. "You played good and hard out there, boys. You all showed impressive skills that would be an asset to our team. Usually, the assistant coach is the one to do these post-practice talks, but for obvious reasons, you lucked out and got me today."