Breaking the Rules (The Rules, #2)

13

Kaleb

We beat Buffalo 5-3, and the win is invigorating. With the combination of apples, goals, and record ice time with my new team, I'm feeling good. While the guys look exhausted, my blood is pumping with adrenaline. I'm out of the showers before the room fills with steam.

Sitting on the bench, towel wrapped around my waist, I extract my phone from my hockey bag. There are over thirty text messages from Mel. A small chuckle escapes my lips. She could become a commentator if she wanted to. Every text message aligns with moments where we almost scored, when the refs were shitty at their jobs, or when poor plays were made. Of course, there's some chirping allocated to Shea and me as well, which is my favourite part. Mel heckling me about a bad pass or penalty always makes me chuckle.

Especially when I know my actions on the ice were petty. Sometimes, emotions get the best of you and you solve that by cross-checking someone. I didn't get away with it. Still, I stand by my decision. The dude charged our goalie earlier—and you don't fuck with the goalie unless you're looking to start a scene.

"Dude," Shea says. "You look like a psychopath, grinning at the phone like you are."

Shea's voice echoes through the semi-empty locker room. It's a decent-sized locker room. Benching lines the walls, along with hooks and open lockers. The floors are a rubbery material for our skates, and the walls are a neutral colour. Nothing fancy, like our home locker room in Vancouver. Seeing the emblem on the floor always fuels me prior to games. As does playing in front of a home crowd.

Slipping my phone back into my bag, I glance at Shea. I'll call Melody once I'm back at the hotel, after Shea and I hit the pub for a drink and something to eat. Right now, I have to goad Shea. The dude's asking for it.

"Don't kid yourself, Smith," I retort. "My unhinged smile is nothing compared to the late-night sexting between you and Brenna. Must be ramping up. Considering she's pregnant and her hormones are all over the place."

Shea snorts. His voice is low when he speaks. "First, Brenna being pregnant is a blessing. Not because we want a baby. Also because she gets horny when she's drunk." He expels a deep breath. "She's a riot, but it's difficult to make her listen. Sometimes, I feel like I need to put her in a straight jacket. Her preferences become too... rowdy for me. Second, Brenna and I do not partake in sexting. While there's nothing wrong with that, it doesn't conform to the style of our relationship. Why do you have to comment?"

My face lights up. I punch Shea in the arm. "Dude, that's right! Remember when she wanted to smother you in chocolate and lick it off of your body? During high school. She got so drunk that night. It was hilarious!"

Shea cringes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't remind me."

He leans over, collecting his boxers and other articles of clothing. Then he stands and pulls his boxers on beneath his towel. Then the towel falls to the floor. He keeps his head down and stays focused on dressing. I keep my eyes averted. Shea's always been modest in the locker room; he doesn't like to put himself on display unless it's with Brenna. No shame in that. We abide by what we're comfortable with. By the end of a game, I'm always so exhausted I don't care. The locker room is full of dicks.