Oh how you hated him.

Frankly, you had no reason to. The boy's league and the girl's league rarely overlapped during the normal season. Only a few practices that overlapped on the ice – but even then both sides stuck to opposites. Yet Carter Sutton got on your nerves more than anyone ever did.

Whether it was the way he purposely got in your head, making you miss a shot two years ago, or the way he always seemed to linger long enough to antagonize you before practices. Carter was a pain. Not that you were easy to him either – you edged him on just as much. Pissing him off before big games, even getting a group of kids together to yell at him when he was on the ice. It was a not-so-friendly rivalry between two people who would never cross paths.

Well, till you both had to play co-ed.

It was only for the off season. The U17 male league decided they could learn a lot from the girl’s U17 – so you had to train together. From April till August. You were stuck sharing a jersey color with Carter. God help you.

You were both good players, great leaders, both fit into the roles of captains easily. But when it came down to it? You’d do anything to see him fail. He’d do anything to see you fail.

You had just finished tying up your skates in the woman’s change room and grabbed your hoodie before stepping out of the locker room. There wasn’t practice today, but you came to the rink anyway to run some drills on your own. It was supposed to be empty besides a few cleaners and the rink owner. Supposed to be.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Carter. He’d already been set up on the ice with a pile of pucks beside him, busy working on his slap shots with an immense amount of speed. He wasn’t in hockey gear either, just black track pants and the team’s jacket. The number 18 gleamed on his arm under the lights. That was another thing that pissed you off, he stole your number. Music pumped out of a speaker near the players box – no doubt his.

However, were you going to let a man stop you from training? No. So you opened the bench door and stepped out on the ice. The coldness in the air settled into your skin, calming down any annoyance immediately. Carter noticed you, of course he did, he could practically feel the shift in energy. “The ice is mine,” he called out. He slapped one more puck in before turning to pin you down with narrowed eyes. He was all broad shoulders and a fit, muscular frame. Built from years of being on the ice. His tanned skin glowed against the f;ourecent lights and his brown hair looked darker than usual – he wasn’t wearing a helmet either. “You can run drills later.” Was Carter about to share the ice? With you? Absolutely not. You always messed up his focus.