Page 26 of Pucking Obsessed

Winter’s lips tug upward in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. Kirsten cackles outright, doubling over as Bethany’s face flushes an alarming shade of red.

Her eyes fill with tears, and for a split second, I think I should feel bad. But I don’t. Instead, I feel better. Bethany’s lips tremble, but then her mask snaps back into place. “I’m not lonely enough to fuck my brother,” she spits. I’m not sure if that shot was at me or Winter, but it doesn’t matter.

I blink, my smile widening ever so slightly. “I’m sure he’s really grateful for that,” I say. The comment lands like a slap, and before I can react, Bethany’s hand flies toward my face.

Winter is faster.

Her delicate fingers catch Bethany’s wrist mid-swing, twisting it effortlessly behind her back in one fluid motion. The movement is so precise, so practiced, that I can’t help but stare. Someone has definitely taught her how to fight, and I never would have expected that out of the delicate ballerina.

Bethany squeals in pain, her body jerking awkwardly as Winter holds her in place. Bethany writhes, trying to free herself, but Winter doesn’t budge.

“Let go of me!” Bethany screeches, her voice high and frantic.

“Nope,” Winter replies, and for some reason that’s so funny to me.

I glance at Kirsten, who’s still laughing, and then back at Bethany, whose face is contorted with both pain andhumiliation. The crowd erupts into wild cheers, the noise so loud it rattles through my chest. I glance toward the rink just in time to see Tristan skating off the ice, the ref hot on his heels, blowing his whistle and pointing toward the penalty box.

“I don’t know how these idiots win all the time,” Kirsten says, laughing as she leans back in her seat. “None of them play by the rules. Tristan refuses to sit in the penalty box and just leaves the game.”

Her words make me glance back at Winter, who’s still standing beside Bethany, her expression as calm and unbothered as ever.

“My brother is coming,” Winter finally says, her voice almost sweet. But her words are anything but. “So if you’d like to make any more jokes at his expense, since you knowso muchabout us, you might want to know that he’s killed someone for hurting me, and I doubt he’d offer you any second chances.” Winter lets Bethany go and as she passes by me, she mouths a simple, “Thank you.”

I turn almost all the way sideways, watching as she heads toward the tunnel where Tristan is waiting for her. Once I see him intercept her, I’m satisfied that she’s safe.

A loud noise from the rink draws my attention, and I whip my head around to see Hayden pounding on the plexiglass.

He’s furious.

His rage is raw and unmistakable as he stares directly at Bethany, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. His fist slams against the glass again, the sound echoing through the arena and making the crowd buzz with excitement.

Bethany panics. She stumbles backward, almost falling as she turns and bolts toward the exit, her face pale and her movements frantic.

When Hayden’s eyes shift to me, his entire body jerks, like he’s noticed something that’s set him off even more.

I freeze under his gaze, confused, as he lifts his hand and makes a circular motion with his finger, silently commanding me to spin around. His lips are pulled tight, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a snarl.

Beside me, Kirsten bursts into laughter. “I didn’t think he’d notice until after the game,” she says, her voice laced with glee.

“Notice what?” I ask, my stomach twisting uneasily.

But Hayden answers for her.

He bangs on the plexiglass again, harder this time, and then yanks his jersey off over his head. The crowd erupts into cheers and screams as people catch sight of his chest and toned abs flexing under the thin white undershirt.

Hayden tosses the jersey over the glass, and it lands in my lap. “Put it on and take that shit off!” he roars, his voice carrying over the noise.

The arena fills with an audible “ooooh,” the sound rippling like a wave through the stands.

Kirsten is practically doubled over, laughing so hard she can barely breathe. “I knew he’d rage, but this is comical,” she wheezes.

It all clicks into place.

I don’t need to look at the back of the jersey I’m wearing to figure it out. Kirsten handed me someone else’s jersey purposely to set her brother off. I was in such a fluster when she showed up that I just tossed it on and didn’t look at the back.

Behind me, a girl gasps loudly. “Oh my God, he’s so hot. She’s so lucky. He’s sexy when he’s angry. She probably did that so he’d hate fuck her after the game.”

The people at this school make me miss the truck diner.

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