Page 28 of Lace 'em Up

Taped. Waxed. Prepped.

But not the one I wanted to use.

Not my lucky stick with the perfect tape job.

And it’s because of the smirking bastard still standing on the ice, now blocking my entrance back to it.

“Is being an asshole in your genes?” I ask, stopping for a squirt of water. “Or just a skill you’ve honed over the years?”

Pat’s a good hockey player.

But he’s lazy.

And, as mentioned previously, an asshole.

However, he’s not particularly smart, and I watch his dumb brow furrow, likely as he tries to process the words—had he ever heard the word hone before? It takes long enough that I’m able to nudge him back, to move by him, to skate back toward my little square of the ice and stickhandling practice. Drills are done, as well as the scrimmage, and we have the rink for some free time for the next half hour.

Rome’s not far, so I bypass my spot, move over to him.

Strength in numbers.

Or maybe if I’m busy, the asshole will get a clue and leave me alone.

That’s not to be.

Because Pat’s either worked out what honed means or he’s trying to run for reelection of the asshole presidency.

“I asked,” he says, coming over and smacking the backs of my legs with his stick. Hard. Because…asshole. “If you’ve fucked her yet.”

“I heard you,” I snap. “And I’m not discussing a woman whose fiancé beat the shit out of her with you.”

Something crosses his face and, for a second, I think he’s going to be an actual human being.

But then, as quickly as it came on, that flash of humanity disappears and he’s back to sneering. “Yeah.” He smirks lasciviously. “You fucked her.”

Thought about fucking her?

Damn right I have.

But would I prey on a woman who’s been through what she’s been through?

Fuck no.

And that he would so much as insinuate that?

Well, I want to say that I know he’s just trying to piss me off and that I ignore him and go back to what I need to get done.

Unfortunately, I’ve been tabling my temper ever since I saw Rory on the side of the road with that bruise on her cheek and the handprint on her throat.

Rome’s eyes widen. “King, just take a breath and?—”

I whirl on Pat, see he’s sporting that dumb ass smirk, and?—

I punch it right off his even dumber face.

Ten

Rory

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