COLD WAR: OFFSIDE WITH THE CAPTAIN

I stood in the hallway dressed in my father's hockey jersey, padded hockey pants, knee-high socks, shin guards, elbow pads, gloves, and black hockey skates. My helmet was secured on my head, and my hockey stick, a gift from my father, was in my hand. I held my hockey stick tightly, trying to ignore the curious looks I received as I waited in the hallway. The locker room went quiet as I walked in. Some players exchanged looks, while others just stared. I was well aware I was going to be the only girl on the roster, but being here actually felt different from my imagination. “Looks like coach is working on a new experiment,” one player said out loud, making the remaining players burst out laughing. “I didn’t need to exchange words; I would simply just prove myself on ice,” I thought to myself as I quietly navigated my way to my locker. “Are you nervous?” A shirtless player asked, slamming my locker shut. “About practice? No. About sharing a locker room with this many boys who apparently forgot how to whisper? A little.” The locker room erupted in whistles and Ouuuu!’s. “You’ve got a smart mouth; let’s see how well you stand up to Roman Kade,” he chuckled. Roman Kade? “Boy, I don’t give a f**k about Roman Kade-” I felt a shift in the air. The locker room went completely silent. Oh boy! I turned around and came face-to-face with rock-solid abs. Slowly, I tilted my head up, only to find myself staring at a six-foot-something ridiculously fine guy with KADE written across his jersey and a C badge. Roman Kade was the captain. Well, f**k! “Gear up, guys; it’s time for practice,” he called out, without taking his eyes off me. I attempted, opening my locker, but he slammed my locker shut, making me roll my eyes. “I don't care what the coach promised you. On this ice, you earn every inch.” He sneered in my face. “Good. Then you won't mind watching me do it.” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest to enforce my seriousness. “Don't confuse getting a roster spot with belonging here.” I didn’t care about being part of the team, I just wanted to play. “Don't confuse wearing the C with owning the team.” The surrounding players hollered at my response, while Roman’s jaw tightened. “Let’s go guys” he motioned towards the door. Great. I had managed to become enemies with the teams captain before my first ever practice. Practice started off simple with conditioning and skating drills. I kept my pace, and while trying to show everyone my skills were indeed real and I deserved my spot on the roaster. I had caught Roman watching me more than once. He was obviously waiting for me to make a mistake. “We’re moving to passing drills. Kade and Mercer, you’re up," the coach announced. I was a new player. It made sense that I was teamed up with the coach for training, but I couldn’t help but shake off the feeling he was going to sabotage me. Roman sent the puck flying toward me, a hard, bouncing pass that hopped off the ice. Oh, so we were being childish today. I bent my knees, angled my stick, and cushioned the puck against my blade, killing its momentum in one smooth movement. Before he could even blink, I swept it back to him with a clean pass right onto his tape. “Brilliant” coaches announced, putting aside his dashboard to clap. I flashed Roman a sweet smile. “You wanna try that again, Kade?” His jaw tightened. Oh, this was going to be fun. The coach split us into two lines for a short scrimmage, and because the universe clearly hated me, Roman Kade ended up on the opposing team. “Pucks down!” the coach barked. The moment play started, I took possession and drove forward, keeping the puck close to my blade. Roman was already waiting for me, his eyes on my stick. I shifted left. He moved with me, cutting off the lane before I could get through. Fine. I pulled the puck back, faked another move to the left, then dragged it across my body and accelerated into the narrow opening on his right. Roman tried to recover, but I was already past his shoulder. I heard the bench erupt behind me. “OOOOHHHH!” I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face as I carried the puck toward the net. “Keep up, Kade!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Get back on defense, Sloane!” the coach yelled. I shot him a thumbs-up without slowing down. Roman shifted to block my passing lane, clearly expecting me to send the puck to the winger waiting on my left. I glanced at my teammate, then back at the defense. There was a gap between the defenseman and the net, small but wide enough if I moved fast. So I changed direction. Roman reacted a second too late. I slipped around him, pulled the puck onto my forehand, and sent it flying past the goalie before he could close his five-hole. The whistle blew. For a second, the rink went quiet. Then someone on the bench muttered, “Damn.” Another guy let out a disbelieving laugh. “No f*****g way.” “Nice shot, Sloane!” one of my teammates called. I lifted my stick in acknowledgment, trying very hard not to look at Roman. Naturally, I looked at Roman. He was already skating toward me, his expression sour enough to curdle milk. “Lucky shot,” he said. I blinked at him. “Sorry, did you say something? I was busy scoring.” His jaw flexed. “It was a fluke.” “Right.” I nodded thoughtfully. “And you letting me get past you was charity work?” A couple of players snickered behind us. Roman’s eyes narrowed. I smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Kade. I’ll try to make the next one less embarrassing for you.” Then I skated away before he could respond, because honestly? I had a goal to celebrate and a very attractive i***t to piss off.