Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2)
Face Offs & Cheap Shots: Chapter 1

The excitement thrumming through my veins isn’t the same as when I’m about to hit the ice. That’s anticipation and adrenaline. This is so much more than that. This is impatience. It’s a frustrating pull that makes sitting through this lecture painful. The moment it’s over, I’ll be out of my seat and trying to duck around the steady stream of students making for the door.

I should have taken a seat near the exit for a quick getaway, but alas, when the professor does finally release us, I’m surrounded by warm bodies, all of which seem to be in just as much a hurry as I am.

As soon as I hit the corridor, I’m stopped by my teammate Cohen coming the other way.

“Yo, Jacobs!”

Shit.

“Can’t talk right now.” I keep my feet moving as fast as I can without running.

He joins me, keeping pace easily. “I heard you have a meeting with Coach. This is it, right? Congratulations!”

I shove him. “Don’t jinx it. Fuck. You’re not a true hockey player if you don’t believe in superstition.”

He snorts. “You and Grant wiped the ice with the rest of us last season. You’ve got this in the bag.”

“Duuuude.”

His laugh follows me as I leave the building, headed for the arena.

With Grant leaving his CU captain position for the NHL, the spot is up for grabs. I’ve been working my whole college career for this moment.

Forgetting the fact hockey is what allowed me to go to college in the first place, I genuinely love it. I worked my ass off every minute I spent on the ice to make sure my senior year was my year.

I’m going to own it.

I get to the arena and breathe in deep, cementing this moment to memory.

I’ve walked these corridors for three years, skated in this arena six days a week, and now it’s finally happening.

I force myself to slow down and take a breath, then try to channel Grant. This is my year, damn it, and I’m going to show the team I can back up our Frozen Four win with another of my own.

The adrenaline hit is similar to the high right before we hit the ice. It buzzes in my veins.

I knock and give my arms a shake to expel all this excess energy, but it’s impossible. Coach calls me in, and here I go, ready to take my future by the horns … or whatever that saying is.

“Hey, Coach, you wanted to—” My words die the second I see another person in the room. And he doesn’t need to turn around for me to work out who it is—I’d know that expensive blond haircut anywhere.

TJ fucking Beckett.

Beck.

An elitist asshole who has more money than any twenty-one-year-old should be allowed.

And also, the second-best player on this team. The best defenseman CU has ever had.

I will never admit that aloud though.

Beck and I don’t pay each other compliments. We have more of a I scowl at him while he snarks at me kind of relationship.

This … isn’t good.

My amazing high starts to fade. I have a million different theories on why Beck is here, and I really hope it has something to do with him failing a recent drug test or something. Losing him from the team wouldn’t be ideal, but it’s better than my first instinct.

“Jacobs, thanks for coming,” Coach Hogan says.

My stare flicks between Beck and Coach as I take my seat next to my teammate. That’s all we are. Not friends. I wouldn’t even consider him an acquaintance. “No problem. What’s this about?”

Coach leans forward and props his forearms on the desk, linking his fingers together. “I’d like to think you both know why you’re here.”

Well, I thought I did. Now …

“I’ve been hoping.” Beck’s acting like he’s got all the cards as usual.

We’ve been teammates for three years now, linemates for a season, but while we work well as a team and know how to share the ice, we’ve never gotten along when we’re not wearing skates. He’s the trust fund kid, and I’m barely scraping by on my scholarship. He likes to think everything in the world is good and fair because he’s so used to being able to laugh his way through anything. The dude needs a reality check. Not everyone is given what they want on a silver platter.

“You might need to spell it out to me,” I say.

Coach leans back in his seat. “You were both outstanding this season. Jacobs, your point scoring rivaled Grant’s, and Beck, your stats are the best I’ve seen in a long time. You are both excellent captain material.”

Both?

Fucking Cohen. He just had to go and jinx me.

My jaw tightens, but I manage to keep my disagreement inside. While I was working my ass off every practice and in the gym every weekend, Beck was partying it up any chance he got. He’d turn up to mandatory weight training and practice, but he has never put in any extra effort.

“Thanks, Coach,” Beck says.

Ugh. Even in humbleness, he’s cocky.

“It can only go to one of us,” I say, somehow succeeding at keeping my voice even.

Co-captains and alternates are common in hockey, but not at CU. For as long as I’ve been here, there’s only been one captain.

“Thing is”—he holds his hands out—“between the assistant coaches and myself, we can’t decide which of you it should be. Picking a captain isn’t something we take lightly. The choice can make or break a team, and with a shitty leader, you can kiss the Frozen Four goodbye. As defending champs, we need the best.”

I already know all this. That’s why I’ve been so determined to prove to everyone that I’m what this team needs. Not some shithead D-man who thinks he’s better than everyone.

I can’t deny the guy is talented on the ice, but I was supposed to be captain next season. Me. Grant’s practically been grooming me for it since he took me under his wing freshman year.

My excitement is dead.

Please don’t take this one thing away from me.

“Because of this,” Coach continues, “we’ve decided to let the team decide.”

“What?” I shoot forward in my chair, which Beck seems to replace hilarious. Team votes are technically allowed, but this is unprecedented.

“Great choice, Coach,” Beck-the-suck-up says. “The team knows what’s good for them.”

“Yeah, and it won’t be you.”

He smirks, and I scowl at the predictable response. But Beck has a right to be cocky.

Grant and I were a solid team. Grant has always been seen as an authority figure because of his hockey talent and his natural ability to charm people. If any of the team had a problem, they’d go to Grant. If any of them want weed, alcohol, or a wingman, Beck would be their guy. The team dynamic goes in his favor.

The right choice would be to pick me, but popularity doesn’t play into what’s right.

I get along with the other guys, but it’s not like I go out all the time. After games and the occasional frat party is all I allow myself. I play hard but work harder, because with my hockey scholarship, if I don’t meet the academic grades needed to keep my spot on the team, I not only can’t play hockey, I’ll get kicked out of school.

With Beck … the asshole could have the team licking his shoes and they’d ask for more. I dunno if it’s the charming smile, his carefree attitude, or the witty retorts, but everyone loves him in a way I’ve never been able to work out.

Coach laughs at the clear animosity coming off us. “Now, now, boys. You two need to work together and trust the team will make the right call.”

They will. They have to. And luckily I have the benefit of spending the summer at training camp with some of them. Cohen especially. I’ve always gotten along with him, and he’s got the ear of a lot of the other guys, so maybe if I use this summer to get him on my side, I’ll have a chance.

I’m grasping at straws here, but it’s the only thing keeping my ass planted in this seat.

“Okay.” I nod. “You’re right. The team should get a chance to choose who they wanna follow. And whichever”—me—“one of us they choose, will have a big season to follow up. So we should probably get prepared.”

“Good attitude. Now shake and wish each other luck.”

Is he serious?

I’m not about to argue when the captain position is literally his to give or take whenever he chooses. I turn to Beck and try not to sweat as his big hand folds around mine. We both squeeze a little too hard, hold a little too long, as we wait for the other to break. Beck’s full lips tremble as they hold back his trademark smile. The excitement I couldn’t shake earlier is nowhere to be found.

“Good luck,” I manage to grit out, trying to display some captainly qualities.

“Yeah you too.” His blue eyes shine. “You’re going to need it.”

Do not punch him. Do not fucking punch him.

“That all?” I ask Coach, desperate to get away.

“Thanks for a good season. I couldn’t be happier with how it went.”

Frozen Four champions is the best title you can ask for, so there’s no disagreeing there.

I walk out of there as fast as I can, wanting to put as much distance between myself and Beck as possible.

But he’s hot on my heels. “That went well.”

“That was absolute bullshit and you know it.” The growl in my voice doesn’t seem to faze him. I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful dick, but this complete crash has taken me by surprise, and no way will I let Beck see me vulnerable. It’s a choice between snapping and crying, and I’m sure as hell not doing the second one.

“I know. I should have got it outright, but I’ll play along. We both know who the team is going to vote for.”

My hands ball into fists, and I shove them into my pockets. “You might as well not try, then. You go enjoy your summer in France or Argentina or wherever the hell you’re going to next.”

“Argentina?” He laughs. “Please. But no, I figure I’m a senior now. Might as well get the full college experience while I can.”

“What do you—”

“Maybe I’ll stay in Vermont this summer.”

“How boring for you.” I can’t even ditch him as we head for the dorms because we’re in the same damn building.

“I’m sure I’ll replace a way to keep busy.”

Right. Good. Fine. Why is he telling me this shit? I try ignoring him, but Beck being Beck, he doesn’t get the message.

“Maybe we’ll spend the summer together. A little bonding time. Some one-on-one.”

“What?” I finally stop and give him my attention. “What are you rambling about?”

“Training camp.” He tilts his head. “Coach is always looking for extra hands to run drills with the high school kids. Aw, you didn’t think I’d let you have that all to yourself, did you? That’s adorable.”

“You’ve never done a training camp in your life.”

“Good thing I like new experiences.”

“Unbelievable.” I pick up my pace toward the dorms. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get rid of him.

“Why thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“And yet I’m taking it as one anyway.”

I manage to keep all my thoughts in as I jog up the stairs and swipe into the dorm. I try shutting the door on Beck, but he darts through after me, sticking close by as we cross the foyer.

He even joins me in the fucking elevator.

As soon as the doors close, I round on him. “Why are you doing this?”

“You really could be referring to literally anything right now.”

He’s got a point. I can’t even figure out what I’m annoyed about most. “You wanna do training camp, fine, but it’s not a vacation. It’s a lot of work.”

“Oh, no, how ever will I manage?”

“I don’t care. Just keep out of my way.”

The elevator stops at my floor, and as I’m getting out, Beck grabs my arm. He yanks me to face him, and I forget everything I was going to say.

Too close. Too fucking close.

I can see every one of his light eyelashes. His stare dips to my nose, my mouth, my chin.

Then his smile unfurls, promising wicked things, and I can’t tear my eyes away as I brace for whatever’s about to come next.

“That captain spot is as good as mine.”

“If you say so,” I growl.

Beck boops me on the nose, and I jerk back out of his hold and get the hell away. He waits until the elevator doors are closing before he gets in the final word. Like usual.

“May the best captain win.”