Page 83 of Breakneck Hockey

“I could have done without the comment about my nose,” he says, using his thumb to toy with my bottom lip. “But we did great.”

I don’t know if I should take his word for it, but I’d rather do that than ever watch that interview. My brain’s too busy catching on a word he said.

We.

Our last fight was over that word. Is this his “Sutter way” of apologizing? Whatever it is, it works. I’m a melted puddle of ice, which is just fucking great. Why does it have to be Sutter, affecting me this way?

“Do you think they know we’re fucking?” I ask.

“Without a doubt, but that’s fine, so are they.”

“You think? But Milton gives Daddy and Gina gives?—”

“Sadist?”

“Yeah.”

“You can be toppy and subby, Alderchuck. It’s called being a switch.”

“Oh, um, I’m not both. Not really.” I can play at both, but the real me likes being manhandled until I give in.

He laughs. “Believe me, I know. Me neither, kitten.” Sutter kisses the top of my head and fucking butterflies swarm through my veins. I thought they were strictly stomach dwellers, but nope. They’re opening up a whole butterfly city in every cornerof my body. His big arms circle me, holding me tightly, and I get to be pressed against his expensive suit, inhaling the scent of his musky aftershave.

I’d be protected from the whole apocalypse here.

“If you don’t want to do that again, I’ll tell them where they can shove their interviews.”

“You’re not worried about getting axed from your team?”

He shrugs. “It’s not what I want, but they’re not making you do that.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do that for us—it’s wrong. No one treats us that way.”

Us.

“I didn’t know you were such a vigilante.”

“Not so much. But I hate all this political bullshit and …”

“And, what?”

He pauses. “Milton came close to losing his hand.”

“That was some kinda possessive bullshit, Sutter.” He thinks I’m his fucking pet. Like the time he told his ex-hockey team that I was his bitch. I should have clawed his eyes out, but Jack’s right, I love all that shit for some reason, and Sutter knows it. There’s something different to the way he does it. I get the nice sting of humiliation, but none of the heartache. Some part of me knows he’s doing it for me rather than to me.

“You’re damn right. Here.” He steps back and unknots the bandana from around his head and ties it around mine. “We’ve got a friendly rivalry going now, which is so much more boring than a cutthroat rivalry, but that means you can wear this. We’ll know what it really means.”

“I’m not planning to change a thing on the ice. Your nose will never be safe.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says. He combs fingers through my hair, admiring his bandana-tying handiwork.

“Are you marking me, Sutter?”

“This is nothing. Wait and see what I do to you later. Fucking Milton. Telling you what to do.”

You know? I might send Milton a thank-you card. He’s set off all of Sutter’s animal instincts.

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