Off Your Game

Off Your Game Original Copyright © Susan Renee 2023 All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft. For use of any part of this book please contact the publisher at [email protected] for written consent. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental. Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, and/or song titles mentioned, throughout the novel Off Your Game, are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders. Disclaimer: This book is intended for adult readers only and is not appropriate for minors. The story includes adult language and adult sexual content. Cover art by Jack’d Up Book Covers Editing by Brandi Zelenka, Notes in the Margin Proofreading by Sarah PilcherReader Team: Kristan Anderson, Stephani Brown, Jenn Hager, Jennifer Wilson Formatting by Douglas M. Huston To Chels at TikTok’s @babesreadingromance, Thank you for giving me the inspiration for the very first line of this book. Okay, maybe the second line of the book! I am forever grateful for my TikTok friends and they’re creative minds! Chapter 1 Colby “Fuck me. They could’ve at least called us good girls before spanking us like that.” Dex tosses his stick against the wall, missing the rack completely, as we storm off the ice and into the locker room. Having nothing good to say, because I’m pissed as hell at our horrible defeat, I bite my tongue and remain silent. I just want to get the fuck out of here as soon as I can. I’m not in the mood for the ass-reaming I’m sure we’ll get from Coach, and I’m not interested in hearing the excuses and the blame shooting from one player to the next. The fact is we lost. Again. And it’s really pissing me off. Coach follows us in and heads straight to his office, slamming the door. It’s rare that he doesn’t say at least something after a game. That’s how we all know how pissed and disappointed he is by our performance tonight. Can’t say I blame him. Anyone watching would’ve thought we were a bunch of rookies out there on the ice for the very first time. Embarrassing is what it was. A cluster fuck of chaos. The Seattle Sea-Brawlers are a tough team, but we’ve dominated in past games so whatever the hell happened tonight is a shock to my core. It’s also my fault and nobody will be able to convince me otherwise. I didn’t eat my Lucky Charms before the game. No, really. I fucking ran out this morning and didn’t have time to grab another box. Assuming I had one stored in my locker like I always have, I came in early to grab a bowl before my pregame workout, but there was not a fucking Lucky Charm to be seen in or around my locker. The guys know it’s my routine. A bowl of Lucky Charms every game day before I start my preparations and warmups. Of course, I know it’s not good for me. Of course, I know it's nothing but a bowl of sugar floating in milk but after consuming a bowl of the marshmallow goodness every damn day for more years than I can count, it’s kind of a habit now. And no way in hell was I going to tell the team I didn’t get my bowl today and ruin any sense of confidence they had going into tonight’s game. Instead, I ruined my own confidence for the night. Told myself I didn’t feel right because I didn’t down a bowl of sugar cereal before hitting the ice. Like that really matters. But to me, it does. Did we all make some ridiculous mistakes out there tonight? Yeah, we did. In my brain, I know tonight’s loss isn’t all on me, but in my heart…the loss is mine. “What the fuck was with McClacken tonight?” Milo asks, ripping through the laces of his skate and pushing it to the floor. “I don’t know.” Quinton shakes his head. “I wanted to shove his goddamn stick so far up his ass he’d feel the splinters on his fucking tongue! That guy’s a piece of work.” Hawken throws his jersey into the laundry bin in the middle of the room and continues to strip down. “He’s all over the tabloids lately, have you seen? Threatening his girlfriend or cheating on her or some shit like that. He’s a high-quality grade-A Douche, that’s for sure. Doesn’t even seem to care that his dirty laundry is being shown to the world.” Zeke, our star goalie, nods. “He’s a PR nightmare, I’m sure. Sucks to be whoever handles that guy.” Still brooding over our performance, I hit the exercise bike to rid myself of the rest of my adrenaline and then head for the shower, hoping my body and my attitude will cool off before going home. Reviewing play after play in my mind, the number of times I sat in the damn sin bin coupled with only one assist under my belt for the night, none of it is sitting well with me. I’m better than this. I work too hard to fuck up the way I did today. “Fix your face, man,” Zeke murmurs softly, stepping up to the shower next to me and turning on the water. “You haven’t said a word since we left the ice and I know what you’re thinking. You know this loss isn’t your fault, right?” With a huff, I squeeze my eyes closed and wipe the water from my face. “It’s always my fault, Zeke.” “How do you figure?” “Because I’m the oldest one on the team. I’m the fuckin’ Captain and if I’m doing a