“I’d have to stand on my head by myself for three periods to get a shutout,” said Ty. “Then as long as one of you idiots on the ice sank a goal, we’d win.”

“Fine.” I sighed. “We can up the ante. A shutout plus three or more goals for us. At least one goal has to be Ward.”

“Easy. Blindfolded and upside down.” Dallas took a sip of his ice water. “Let’s make it two.”

It was like he was doing my job for me.

“Fuck that,” Tyler grumbled. “He only has to sneak two shots past Mendez, while I have to block, like, a hundred from their entire team.”

He was being dramatic, as usual. The shots on net tonight would likely clock in around half that, if not less. But goalies weren’t known for being level-headed; they were their own special brand of crazy. They had to be in order to shake off their frustration and get right back to it after letting a goal in. The mental game goaltending required was intense.

“What’s wrong?” Dallas smirked, needling him. “You worried you can’t do it?”

Ty scoffed. “Of course I can. And I’m about to.”

Tyler’s weaknesses also included being proud to a fault, which made him easy to manipulate.

“I hear the Bulldogs tanked their preseason games,” Dallas added. “One-four-one. Probably won’t be hard.”

* * *

Had I known the wager would be this easy to win, I would have gotten more creative.

Three minutes into the game, the Bulldogs’ goalie failed to block Ward’s slapshot straight through the five-hole. Like he was asleep at the stick or something. Then everything went to shit for them. In the first period alone, they took several weak penalties, including tripping, slashing, spearing, and one for too many men on the ice—because apparently, in addition to forgetting how to skate, they’d also forgotten how to count.

As the second period began, we were in great spirits. Meanwhile, the Bulldogs were getting their asses kicked.

I watched as Dallas’s backhand narrowly missed the net, hitting the boards and rebounding into the corner. One of the Bulldogs’ D-men, Derek James, beat us to it and took possession, but he choked, freezing on the spot. I skated backward in position near the net while our other winger charged. Instead of taking the time to line up like he should have, Derek panicked and tried to pass to his teammate. His shot went wide, and I intercepted the puck in front of the net. With a flick of my wrist, the buzzer sounded again.

Beauty.

With a fist pump, I skated off and hopped onto the home bench.

“Sick goal.” Dallas laughed, clapping me on the back. “But you just sealed your fate.”