Page 3 of Brutal Game

The only thing that kept my interest was being on the ice, and even that was starting to feel mundane. Usually, the feeling of being a well-oiled machine with my team, the moment my stick touched the puck, outmaneuvering my opponents,winning…all of it made me feel alive.

But now it didn’t. It felt like the world was muted, quiet, almost still…likemy worldwas waiting for something.

“Feldman, you asshole. What are you brooding about?” Judah nudged my shoulder with his cold can of beer, not bothering to lower his voice.

I glanced at one of the Kings’ two defensemen. Judah—and his stupid man bun—was a pain in my ass, because healways spoke his mind without tact or care for who else might be listening. He was a loud dick and most people, including his professors, thought he was an idiot—that his twin, Levi, had all the brains. Judah liked it that way. The fucker was secretly insightful, which sometimes I was grateful for.

Not now though.

I glanced at him. “Not brooding.”

He snorted. “Sure.”

“Jack doesn’t brood, he plots.” Levi rolled his eyes at his brother.

“Same fucking difference,” Judah said. “You think you know more than me because of those stupid glasses you barely need.”

“And you think you’re prettier than me because of that ridiculous hair,” Levi countered.

Before they could squabble more, Marnie sidled up to us.

“Who plots?” she asked as she placed her hand on me, red nails gleaming in the kitchen’s light. I’d fucked her a few times, and we were friends, but I didn’t want her near me.

Gently lifting her hand off my shoulder, I smiled down at her. “No one, sweetheart.”

This time, Isaac interceded. The flirt put a hand around Marnie’s waist, pulling her toward him. “C’mon gorgeous, let’s shake our booties on the dance floor.”

Giggling, Marnie leaned into him. Isaac and I exchanged a look, me expressing my gratitude and Isaac accepting it. Isaac was known as a player—even more than me—but the four of us knew the truth: sometimes he took one for the team.

So to speak.

“You obvious asshole,” Judah said. “Sending Dr. Dimples off to do your dirty work.”

I laughed, lifting my beer to my lips—and froze.

Someone was staring at me. Not unfamiliar; people stared a lot. It came with the territory, and I didn’t mind.

This felt different. My back almost burned from their gaze on me, and some instinct I didn’t understand warned me to ignore them. Like if I turned around, everything would change.

So I turned around.

And sawher.

And suddenly, all the boredom and fucking ennui I’d been feeling for so long disappeared as if it never existed. I inhaled sharply, like someone had slammed me into the boards.

Her curly brown hair with glints of red was down, falling over bare arms. She wore a tight, sleeveless black turtleneck and a tiny black skirt, both emphasizing a round stomach and soft, rolling curves I could and would happily get lost in. Some guys might call her fat. I’d beat up every fucking one of them. Because I didn’t care how she was labeled—to me, she was a stunning, gorgeous goddess. Period.

Thick thighs and long legs led down to a pair of scuffed up, sparkly sneakers. It was hot for early October, unseasonably so, which made the turtleneck an intriguing choice.

I’d seen a lot of pretty girls. Girls who cheered my name and wanted me to sign their tits after a game. This one wasn’t even smiling. In fact, she was glaring at me.

But her eyes…

Dark, mysterious, a little angry, a little haunted, a little turned on. As I watched her, every single one of those pretty girls ceased to exist. They didn’t fucking compare. Staring at her, seeing her stare back—it unlocked something inside ofme. Something I hadn’t known existed. Something that, when opened, released an unfamiliar word:

Mine.

I’d never thought of anyone as mine before.

---