Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Coach must secretly think so too, because he pushes us harder than usual. I’m a sweaty mess by the time I lumber off the ice. My hair is plastered to my forehead, and I swear there’s cartoon steam rolling out of my helmet.
Coach smacks me on the shoulder. “Good hustle, Colin.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Davenport,” he says to Hunter. “Show me that same ruthlessness tonight, son. Shoot through Johansson, not around him. Feel me?”
“Got it, Coach.”
We have thirty minutes to shower and change before a mandatory meeting in the screening room to review game tape. This will be our first of two games against Harvard this season, and we want to send a message. It’s an away game, to boot, so it’ll be extra tough—but extra sweeter if we can get a W in their arena.
In the locker room, I strip off my sweaty practice gear and duck into the shower area. The stalls are divided by partitions and have saloon-style doors that mean we can’t see each other’s junk, but chests are fair game. Stepping into the stall next to Hollis, I crank the cold water and dunk my head. I swear I’m still sweating even under the cool spray.
“Are we really not gonna acknowledge the fact that Mike shaved his chest?” Dave Kelvin, a junior defenseman, demands.
Laughter bounces off the acoustic tiles. I glance at Hollis and lift a questioning brow. I’ve showered, worked out, and gone swimming with the guy enough times to know that he usually has hair on his chest. Now it’s smoother than a baby’s bottom.
Nate Rhodes, our team captain this year, grins. “Home job or salon?”
Hollis rolls his eyes at the tall senior. “Home. Why would I pay someone to do something I can do myself? That’s stupid.” He twists around so he can wave at Kelvin. “And you? Get off your ivory horse, dude—”
“Ivory tower,” I say helpfully.
“Whatever. We all know you wax your chest and your back, Kelvin. Hypocritical fucktard.”
I snort and rub soap over my chest. My body temperature is finally dropping.
“I don’t wax my back!” Kelvin protests.
“Yes you do. Nikki Orsen ratted you out, you back-hair motherfucker.”
Nikki is a right-winger on the Briar women’s team. She’s a great player and an awesome girl, but she also happens to be a serious blabbermouth. You can’t tell her anything you don’t want anyone else knowing.
As Nate and a couple other seniors hoot loudly, Kelvin’s face turns beet red. “I’m gonna kill her.”
“Oh relax, princess,” Hunter drawls. “Every dude you see on Instagram waxes some part of his body.”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” Hollis says. “There’s no shame in manscaping.”
“This is a safe place,” Nate agrees solemnly.
“Exactly. Safe place. We all manscape here—or at least we all fucking should if we consider ourselves fucking gentlemen,” Hollis chides.
Swallowing a laugh, I place the soap back in its tray and start rinsing off.
“Seriously, bro, what’s with the makeover?” Matt Anderson pipes up. Like Kelvin, he’s a junior D-man. The two of them were beyond shitty last year, but our new defensive coach, Frank O’Shea, has been working the D-men hard all season, and he’s really whipped them into shape.
“Got a date after the game tonight,” Hollis reveals.
“What, the chick has something against body hair?”
“Hates it. She swallowed a pube once, and it triggered her gag reflex so she threw up all over her boyfriend’s dick. And then he started ralphing too because vomit makes him vomit, and they broke up right after that.”
For one long moment, the only sound in the huge room is the rushing water.
Then it transforms into the weeping laughter of a bunch of buck-ass naked dudes.
“Oh my fucking god, that is the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Hunter moans.
“She told you all this?” Our team captain is doubled over, and I can’t tell if it’s tears or water streaming down his face.
“Said she wouldn’t even consider boning down if a guy had body hair. That includes chest, arms, legs, so…” Hollis shrugs.
“You did your arms and legs too?” Nate squawks.
Hunter laughs harder.
“Women are nuts,” Kelvin grumbles.
He has a point. Women are messed up. I mean, Summer told me off last night for no good reason other than me being surprised that she’d read Shifting Winds.
Apparently she took that to mean that I thought she couldn’t read?
Seriously?
Although…fine, if I look at it from her perspective, I can see why she overreacted. Maybe it did come off a bit like I was implying she wasn’t smart enough for the series or that she was lying about reading it.
That wasn’t my intention, though. Those books are legitimately tough to read. Hell, I barely got through them myself, and I’ve been reading fantasy religiously for years.
If she’d given me a chance to respond, I could’ve told her that. And I would’ve apologized for insinuating I didn’t believe her.