Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance Jami Davenport (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

watched him leave, as confused as ever. I needed honest advice from someone who wouldn’t sugarcoat their answers and would give it to me straight.

I knew just the person.

I found Kaitlyn in the laundry/equipment room off the locker room, cleaning another endless round of hockey jerseys. This place was the epitome of organization, everything perfectly aligned, folded, and arranged, almost frightening in its tidiness, at least to someone who was inherently messy.

A pile of towels sat on the opposite counter. Kaitlyn efficiently and uniformly folded each one and placed it in a neat stack. She glanced up when I walked in. Typical of her, she didn’t greet me with a smile but something more akin to a scowl. I’d come to know her well enough not to be put off by her unwelcoming demeanor.

“Hey, could I help you?” I offered, not sure how else to start this conversation.

“I’ve seen your room. Can you fold like this?” She pointed at her precise stack of towels.

“Uh, no, I can’t.”

“Then you can’t help me, but you didn’t come here for that, did you?” She got right to the point, no polite small talk for her.

I shook my head and slumped into a plastic chair. Kaitlyn regarded me with a smirk, which was oddly sympathetic. “Guy problems?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I recognize that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror a time or two.” She continued to fold in a fascinatingly efficient manner as she talked.

“Pax and I settled our differences.”

“You looked like you’d settled them last Friday night.”

“I mean we talked it out and agreed to stay friends.”

“Why? When there seems to be so much more?”

“I don’t know. I’m torn,” I admitted.

“You’re torn?”

“Uh, yeah. Patrick asked me out. I’ve waited so long for this moment, and now I don’t know. I asked for a rain check.”

For someone who came across as selfish and mean, Kaitlyn was very perceptive. People didn’t give her enough credit. Probably because she had one hell of a resting bitch face. She wasn’t nearly as harsh as she portrayed. Usually, people like her were deeply insecure. I doubted she was an exception. The intimidating wall she put up kept people from getting too close.

But enough psychoanalyzing her. I’d come here for no-nonsense advice.

“I can’t stop thinking about Paxton. It’s insane. What if I’m using him as a surrogate for Patrick, because Patrick is such a player, and Paxton is the safe option?”

“That would be a bitchy thing to do.” Kaitlyn raised one perfectly sculpted brow and regarded me pointedly. “If you don’t know what you want, spare the boy. Keep it as friends. He needs to play the best hockey of his life this year. Don’t mess with his head. He doesn’t need that.”

“I know.” We’d had countless discussions about how badly he wanted a career in hockey.

“Then he’ll need to show he’s close to ready, especially if he’s going pro after this year.”

“Do you know something more?” Kaitlyn had connections via her father.

She smirked and shrugged, not willing to divulge any further information. “Back to your twin problem. Seems simple to me. You’ve decided to limit myself to being friends with Pax. That’s settled. See where it goes with his brother or don’t. It’s your choice.”

Leave it to Kaitlyn to break things down into their most basic components.

I wasn’t convinced it’d be so easy.

14

Pushing Through

Paxton

I ached for Naomi.

Ached to the point my joints hurt. Ached inside. Ached in my soul.

I freaking loved her, and nothing she said or did seemed to dissuade my smitten heart.

I’d even taken to writing poetry in class when I was bored. Now that’s desperate.

Friends, just friends.

This friend crap was killing me, but I had to respect her wishes. Deep down, some part of me knew it was for the best. She didn’t feel like I did. Maybe physically but not emotionally.

I wouldn’t be good enough once again, especially not in love.

For the next week, I consumed my thoughts with hockey as best I could, even though thoughts of a naked Naomi snuck in when I was least expecting them. I strove to compartmentalize my two obsessions and reduce Naomi thoughts to bedtime or during an incredibly boring lecture in my calculus class. Sometimes I succeeded; other times I failed.

Last weekend had been one of ups and downs. My usually consistent play had been very inconsistent. I’d had a good game Friday night and a mediocre one on Saturday. More often than not, I slipped back into old habits and struggled with new ones. Coach Garf told me not to fret about it, just keep pushing through.

Hanging out at the hockey house Saturday night had been torturous with Naomi there. She’d started popping up wherever I was. It was weird. She must’ve been trying to make my brother jealous or something. Or I was reading more into it, which was more likely.

Now we were in Michigan for back-to-back games. Of course, Dad would make the nine-hour drive, and I dreaded his attendance. I hadn’t seen or spoken to the man since he’d reamed my ass for scoring rather than giving Patrick the opportunity.

He’d go postal on me, and I readied myself. I’d changed the rules without his permission. Eclipsing Patrick’s stardom was not an option. My job was to feed the puck to Patrick. That was how he saw it.

Not anymore, according to Coach and the Sockeyes. I fought to realize the potential they’d seen when they’d drafted me. I wouldn’t let them down, even if those closest to me were uncomfortable or angry or both.

We were in first place in the league going into this weekend, and Coach Garf insisted I take more shots rather than passing the puck. Not that he wanted me to hog the puck but to take the good shots when I saw them and trust my instincts.

Regardless, I was torn about my new role on the team and wished I was able to discuss my concerns with Patrick, but I held back for fear he