Page 15 of Mine to Take

Unable to help myself, I sneak another glance at the hot hockey player. Our eyes collide for the umpteenth time tonight, and my feet stutter at the disgust stamped across his expression. It’s written in the hard glint that now fills his icy depths and the curl of his upper lip.

My heart kicks up into overdrive as River tugs me along before smirking at Maverick.

“Tough loss, McKinnon. Better luck next time.”

5

Maverick

There’s only one way to describe the mood at Slap Shotz, and that’s somber. Frustration and anger hang heavy in the air. This isn’t the first game we’ve lost this season, but let’s just say it’s not a regular occurrence.

The fact that it happened against our biggest conference rival only adds salt to the wound.

No one is taking it well. A few guys are drowning their sorrows in glasses of cheap beer. Others are rehashing the game play by play, trying to figure out where it all went to shit.

Plus, no one’s looking forward to the next practice. Coach will rip us a new one, all the while putting us through the wringer. It wouldn’t surprise me if a few of the younger players throw in the towel afterward and quit the team.

That thought sinks to the bottom of my belly like a heavy stone, where it settles uncomfortably.

No doubt about it—we’re definitely going to get the shit kicked out of us.

And I have the sneaking suspicion that I’ll get the brunt of it.

I was distracted and allowed my emotions to get the better of me.

Realizing how my future will play out, I down the rest of my beer and decide to head home. I caught a ride to the arena and then the bar with Hayes and Bridger.

I flick a glance in their direction.

Neither look very happy, so it’s doubtful they’ll stick around for long.

As I set the empty glass on the bar, the back door swings open and a dozen guys saunter in with grins plastered across their smug faces.

My gaze narrows as I catch sight of River fucking Thompson.

You have to be seriously shitting me right now.

What the fuck are these clowns doing here?

At our bar?

The place where we always hang out?

Everyone knows that Slap Shotz unofficially belongs to the Western Wildcats.

My gaze slides to the girl glued to his side, and every muscle tenses, going on high alert.

Blondie.

After she walked out of the arena, I never expected to see her again. As soon as our gazes collide, her eyes widen as she stutters to a stop. The douche at her side sends a questioning look her way.

It’s tempting to bare my teeth and knock him away from her.

How is it possible that she’s even more beautiful than I remembered?

River leans down and murmurs something in her ear. She rips her attention away from me long enough to meet his questioning gaze. A potent concoction of anger and jealousy bursts to life inside me as he drapes his arm around her again.

The visceral reaction I’m having to this girl is almost enough to give me pause. I search my memories, unable to remember a time when I’ve felt anything like it.

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