Page 84 of Lace 'em Up

“Shit, princess,” he mutters, patting my back. “Just breathe.”

He’s patient while I regain my breath, and when I take a moment to find the courage to meet his eyes.

And when I finally do, I see that he’s persistent.

Determined.

Because when I’ve finally caught my breath, when I’m no longer choking, when I’m finally holding his gaze again, he asks,

“So…will you come tonight?”

Twenty-Five

King

Sitting in the penalty box and trying to get a glimpse of Rory up in the owner’s box high overhead hadn’t been my plan.

But waking up and spending a full day and a half fucking her every way imaginable also hadn’t been on the docket either.

“Who are you looking for?” Pat says from next to me. “I saw some hot pussy in section one-oh-two, but I’m not sharing.”

Right.

Because that’s the extra layer of joy to this game tonight.

Sitting in the box next to Pat.

He’d taken a cheap shot on a guy on the other team—a player who’s as much of an asshole as Pat is so I couldn’t give him too much shit for that. But a couple of the guys on the other team hadn’t appreciated that gesture much and I—as a halfway decent teammate who knows that Pat’s an asshole but still plays an important role on the ice—had stepped in to make sure he didn’t get pummeled when he went full turtle on the ice.

For all his talk of pussy…

Pat was sure a dick. Or maybe a ball sack.

Vulnerable to the smallest bit of contact.

“Or maybe,” he drawls and I grind my teeth together, “you’re looking for a certain woman who you’re fucking.”

My head whips away from the stands, glare fixing on him in an instant.

Too fast. Revealing too much.

As made evident by the asshole’s smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “I knew you’d get in there.”

“Fuck off, Pat,” I mutter, gaze turning to the Jumbotron, counting the seconds until I can get the fuck out of here. Five minute penalty for fighting. Five minutes too long to sit next to this asshole.

Then, to add to my misery, it’s not strictly just five minutes. I have to wait for my time to count down, but then I also have to wait for a whistle before I’m allowed to leave the Naughty Box.

“For someone who’s getting his dick wet, you’re sure in a bad mood,” Pat says gleefully.

As gleefully as I’d put my fist right through his face.

Christ.

I need to get out of here.

“Do you ever get tired of being an asshole?” I grind out.

“Nope,” he says as the whistle blows and he stands up.

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