Page 27 of Puck Prince

Meanwhile, Miles' words are still echoing in the back of my head.I know you from somewhere. Have we met?

That whole thing about the past not staying in the past? Well, I wasn’t wrong.

The past is here, alright, and its name is Owen fucking Sharpe.

10

OWEN

“Jesus fucking Christ, Coach was skull-dragging today.” Heath rips his helmet off the second we pile into the locker room and chucks it into his cubby.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t dragging your balls on the ice, he wouldn’t have run us so hard.” Dax grumbles, shedding his gear.

“What can I say? My head was somewhere else.” Heath grins and we all know what he’s talking about.

I rip my mouth guard out. On second thought, maybe I should keep it in. I know where this is going, and I’m going to lose my shit if it gets too rowdy.

“Which head?” Miles asks.

“Both,” Heath admits and the guys erupt in laughter and childish fist bumps.

“Listen—” Kason is down to his boxers now. “I don’t give a flying fuck what Coach says; she can’t becompletelyoff-limits.”

“Maybe in the workplace,” Lachlan says, mimicking Coach Coleman’s voice. “But after hours? Listen. Get a couple drinks up in me, and I’ll be getting up in her.”

Another group laugh. Like braying fucking alley dogs.

Meanwhile, my blood is boiling.

“You’re assuming you could get her to go out with you, Thatcher,” Miles jokes. “If I had to guess, Miss Coleman is more of a cocktail-and-a-cigar girl than your usual brand of BOGO pitcher of PBR puck bunny.”

“Hey!” Heath jumps to his own defense. “I can be fancy when I want to. I’ve been told I clean up nice.”

“By who?” Dax asks.

“Your mother doesn’t count, Thatcher,” Kason jabs, and everyone laughs again.

“Fucking hell, don’t any of you guys think about anything else? It’s Coach’s niece, for fuck’s sake. That’s got ‘red flag’ written all over it,” I growl, stomping around the locker room like a bulldog.

“More like a yellow flag.” Lance, my best friend on the team, tosses a towel at me. “What Coach doesn't know won’t kill him.”

Et tu, Brute?

“Yeah, but it could get you kicked off the team.” I throw the towel back at him, hitting him in the chest.

“You sure are being a grumpy old man about all of this.” Kason squints at me. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning, eh? You’ve been a dick all day.”

He’s not wrong. Ever since I saw that twat of a reporter outside, I’ve been annoyed. Running into Callie didn’t help. Literally running into her in the locker room really didn’t help. And now, knowing I have to avoid her not only at home, but also at work, all while trying to keep the rest of my life's secrets tidy…

Well, yeah. I’m agitated.

“I came here to play hockey, not play with my dick. Maybe I actually care that we are going head-to-head soon with a team that just might kick our asses, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

“Or maybe your corset is laced too tight,” someone mumbles. I turn around, scanning faces, ready to beat one into a pulp. I’m greeted with nothing but smirking mugs, though. No telling which one is the culprit.

Lance comes to my rescue. “Lay off, guys. Owen’s been on one hell of a roller coaster in the last year.”

“Is that why his Midol’s not working?” Dax asks.

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