Hockey is practically a religion where they live, especially at their school, and especially for a star center and defenseman. *Especially* for Simon âGhostâ Riley who got the nickname from being so fast and brutal on the ice.
Championshipâs are coming up and the end of the year. That means scholarships and stress, every player and coach around trying to get ready for the games.
There was a spot by the entrance of the arena that all the players practiced whenever they had a chance of coach demanded it. Simon and a few other guys were whipping pucks against the concrete walls, practicing different kinds of shots.
Simon had been distracted, caught up in his thoughts about scouts, his wrister hitting a pipe instead of the wall like it was supposed to, that wouldâve been fine if it didnât bounce off, all the men quickly ducking as if flew forward.
âHeads!â He called out, watching as if flew right at some poor, unaware girl.
He offered you a business proposition.
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ââ´ď¸Ë| he failed you, didnât he? (TW)
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- you're undercover in the nightclub
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|| Sold to him ||
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