Page 147 of Evil Hearts

He doesn’t know thatthishockey groupie will do unthinkable things while spread naked across his towel, one of my battery-operated-boyfriends on high, my pussy straining around the biggest toy I own.

I’m practically light-headed when I shiver my way into my RV, which is parked next to numerous tour buses and team buses in the expo center’s back lot.

Bryce Frobisher reminds me of the things I used to love about Felipe.

Felipe and Fia—a perfect match, they said. I was beautiful and shapely, charming and witty. I was a jewel for a handsome athlete with a big future infutebol. Felipe was charming and attentive, apparently supportive of his outspoken lover who had gone to America for school and wanted to pursue her passion for photography.

What a crock for the cameras. Felipe was possessive, jealous, and controlling. He didn’t want me to travel. When he found out about my year working as a model in the States…

Let’s just say that I love it when a guy acts like a beast on the field or the court (and in the sheets), but I hate when he becomes a monster at home.

I haven’t thought about Felipe in three years, not since we broke up for good.

Why am I comparing him to Bryce Frobisher?

Same animal-like ferocity. Fierce competitor. Muscular build. The stamina…

I find myself racing inside the chilly darkness of my RV to avoid thinking those thoughts of Felipe. I can’t wait until I’m alone tonight after my workday is done. Then I can “distract myself” with thoughts of a certain husky hockey player while I soothe my overheated nerves and finally fall asleep.

But I’m so looking forward to his headshots tonight. Maybe he’ll give me that shy little smile again.

Felipe didn’t have a shy bone in his body.

I never knew how sexy a bashful grin could be…

“Who the hell is Miss Valentine? It sounds like the host of a kids’ television show,” King parts his raven black hair and flashes his tusks at the mirror over the sink.

I smooth my fur back away from my face as best as I can, inspecting the areas I’ve shaved to help me appear more human.

“Miss Valentine’s not her real name. I just call her that. She’s an amazing photographer.” I show King Fia’s social media page. “Harp seals in Canada. Weddings in the Florida Keys. Look, look at this. A jaguar in Central America. She’s so good.”

“You have a boner over her skills with a camera?”

“I do not! I mean, I don’t have that. Or for that reason. If I did.” I stumble over my words. “Look, I really admire her skills as a photographer, but when I first saw her,” I swallow down a wave of rolling lust that engulfs me, buries me, “she was posing in Modern Sportsman and Driver magazine.”

“That upscale skin mag?”

“It is not! They just happen to have a swimsuit section each month.” Okay, so it’s sort of similar. The articles are about sports, but every accompanying photograph is devoted to sexy models. Fia was in every issue for a year (I think that’s unheard of), but she was best known for her spread in the February issue, which is always “Devoted to the sport of love and the passion that drives us.” I’ve been a big fan of hers since her first appearance in the magazine—but then she was Miss Valentine in the Holiday Calendar they put out and…

I can’t think of the things that I did while looking at her in that little white bikini and ice skates, straddling a rink-side seat with a hockey stick leaning against one bare, bronzed thigh. On the little inset, she was getting a big heart-shaped box of candy, and I could practically hear her squeal and feel her tight brown ringlets under my fingertips as I reached up to cup her smiling face…

“Bryce? Are you there, big guy?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“So, she used to work on the other side of the camera?”

“My room was plastered with her pictures in college.”And after college.I don’t need to tell King that part. Sometimes he talks too much.

“Who was on the other side of the camera?” Sam Grendel, a recent trade into our league, slides in and tosses his sweaty towel down on the bench.

“The cute photographer who was taking action shots out there. I wonder if she’s doing the headshots and the fan meet and greet.” King elbows me. “Might turn the tables on her to find out she has a massive fan of her own here this weekend.”

“Massive hairball,” Sam frowns at me, his mostly hairless human body elbowing past me as he heads to the showers. “You ever consider getting a wax, man?”

I growl, deep in my chest. Most humans don’t notice anything out of place. Sam doesn’t know I’m a yeti, but he’s noticed the copious amount of “body hair,” and of course, the jerkwad has to say something about it.

“You’d better hope she likes ‘em hairy,” Sam laughs mockingly.

---