Page 46 of Breakneck Hockey

I push him—a real push this time—and turn. Sutter’s hand catches the hem of my shirt, sending me tumbling backward into his arms. He traps me there.

“Let me go.”

“Wait, kitten.”

“Not your kitten.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Just your fuck kitten.” I twist and writhe and pull.

“God dammit, Alderchuck.”

I rip free, slipping from his grasp, whipping around to face him. “Go fuck yourself. This is over.”

“It’s not over. We’re not over, Alderchuck.”

He doesn’t want me, but no one else can have me? Yeah, no. We’re not doing that. “I hope you get run over by a Zamboni, Sutter.”

I storm into the restaurant, tearing my brother’s shirt off as I go, slamming it against his chest. “My shift’s over. I’ll be at Jack’s.”

Chapter 8

My Alderchuck

Sutter

Imade the mistake of spying on Alderchuck through Rhett while Rhett was away camping with his new boyfriend Logan. What I heard only set my blood boiling. Alderchuck, pretending like he doesn’t give a shit about me when I know that’s not fucking true.

I was supposed to meet Rhett for a drink now that he’s back in town, but I ditched. Instead, he showed up at my apartment, threatening to bang the damn door down. He’s strong enough to do it. As much as I don’t give a fuck about threats from anyone, I felt less like going through the trouble of getting my damn door fixed than seeing his face, so I let him in.

He stepped over the pile of shoes at my door, and his Pradas landed on the sticky floor where I spilled something two nights ago. I’ve had the guys and gals over every night this past week. Some of them might still be scattered among the bedrooms, judging by that pile of shoes. And that’s where we’re at, Rhett analyzing me, trying to decipher my mental state.

My best friend is an imposing figure. A little taller than my six foot and four-inch frame, with wider shoulders. That’s a feat. I’m not a small guy by any measure, and I don’t meet guys who are bigger than me often.

He plucks a red pump from the pile. “Something I should know about you?”

I snatch the shoe from him and throw it at the floor. “I’m not fucking women. I’m not fucking anyone.”

Not from lack of trying. I did fool around with a couple of guys who showed up to the ragers the guys and I have been throwing, but I keep kicking them out of bed. They’re boring. Do everything I say. Try to impress me.

It made me miss Alderchuck’s mouthy ass. There’s gotta be another brat out there who can take my gruffness.

“Disgusting. What the hell’s going on here?” Rhett says.

“Having a little fun before I leave. You got a problem with that?” I leave in two days. Fuck, I don’t know why I’m still here. Training camp isn’t for another couple of weeks, in late September, but I booked a flight, choosing to get the fuck out of town earlier.

Maybe distance will douse the flames of my obsession with Alderchuck.

“I’m not your mother, but I am a concerned friend.”

His penetrating gaze rakes up and down. I’m shirtless, my hair’s tied back in a red bandana. I smell like I haven’t showered in five days, even though it’s been two max. Okay, maybe three. Meanwhile, Rhett looks like a million bucks. It’s a literal statement, but it shines through him.

“Love looks good on you, buddy,” I say. And I’m genuine. He deserves it after all that bullshit with Jack. Rhett was the first friend I made when I moved into the upper-class neighborhood with Mom. He already owned the school, and I needed in with him. I was pissed that Mom was making me go to some preppyprivate school. I can admit now that fourteen-year-old me was scared shitless. In the school I came from, the underdog got his ass beat.

I knew that from having been the underdog who worked his way to the top, so I could hand out beatings. I wasn’t fucking around when I got to the new school. It was easy to tell Rhett was king, so I walked up to him and asked who I had to beat the fuck out of to get a seat at the table.

He shook my hand, ever the businessman even at fourteen.

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