Page 62 of Puck Prince

God, what was I thinking?

I wasn’t, obviously.

I knew she was at the game. Even though her and Kennedy weren’t front and center, and she was hiding behind a ballcap, I spotted them almost immediately.

It threw me off during warm-ups. I found myself looking her way again and again—and found her looking mine more than once. But when the puck dropped, I locked the fuck in.

Every pass was fluid. Every time their defense got scrambled, we left them in the dust. By the time I went for the jugular and scored the goal, we were unstoppable. The crowd was on their feet, the arena was roaring, and I was right where I wanted to be.

Until I saw that some of the commotion wasn’t because of the banger I’d just scored. It was because some piece of shit, drunken opposing fan was getting rough with a girl.

But it wasn’t just a girl. It wasn’t evenhisgirl.

It was Callie.

Mygirl.

My feet were moving before my mind thought better of it. All the adrenaline I felt from the goal was channeled on lightspeed into anger. Rage. And then into my fist smashing into that asshole’s face.

But it didn’t stop there. Even after that dipshit hit the ground, lights out for the night, I was still running on pure gas. Callie was scared. A fear that seemed deeper-rooted than just being manhandled by some beer-fueled asshole.

Callie has been hurt before.

That was the thought in my head.

It’s been the thought in my head ever sense. I can’t shake it.

I get what everyone else is all up in arms about, though. The punch and the kiss caused a lot of commotion online, so I’m not actually that surprised that Coach needs us to publicly smooth it over. And I have to admit, the fact that our current affairs have kept the press interested enough that they are completely ignoring Summer and Nicky is enough reason for me to sign anything anyone slides in front of me. This could be a marriage license, and it still might be worth it.

I pick up the pen. “Alright. As long as there’s no fine print, I’m down to sign.”

“Good answer.” Coach turns to Callie with an expectant look on his face.

She sighs, clearly not crazy about it, either. But she knows as well as I do that we have no other choice. “Fine. I guess it can’t hurt anything at this point.”

“Everything you’re doing is hurting things, sweetheart.” Coach Randy rubs a hand down his face. “After everything you two have pulled—not to mention the fact this isn’t the first time you’ve been in a workplace relationship—well, I’d say all our hands are tied.”

Callie’s eyes stay locked on her uncle while I look at her.

What the fuck did he just say?

“All of that is behind me.” She pops the cap off the pen. “It was a mistake. And this is different.”

“You bet it is,” he agrees. “Which is why I want it in writing. You two are in love, and the world is going to witness it. Proof is in the pudding.”

As soon as her signature is scribbled across the bottom of the page, she tosses the pen down on the desk and marches out.

I want to go after her. I want to talk about the kiss, about the way she was terrified at the game.

More than that, I want to know what the hell Coach is talking about.

But when I stand, he sticks up his hand. “Hold it, Sharpe. I’m not done with you yet.”

I look longingly at the door as it closes then back at him. “Sir?—”

“Take a seat, son.”

I comply, gritting my teeth.

---