Page 85 of Pinkie Promise

O’Neill laughs and I take a steady inhale, twisting my stick slow and hard into the ice. Anything to occupy my hands from what they really want to do, which mainly involves dislocating O’Neill’s jaw.

He can tell. Which is why in the next second O’Neill pushes his chest straight into mine, trying to get me to shove him back, but I just grunt and strengthen my position as I keep my balance strong.

Benson’s words from October come to the forefront of my mind.

You think you’re all noble dishing out justice? That’s the ref’s job, not yours, Wilde.

There’s got to be no more than thirty seconds left of this game and I’m not trying to get into a fight when the whistle’s about to blow, especially when we’re coming out victorious.

I roll my neck and look down at O’Neill. “I really don’t recommend doing that again, man,” I tell him quietly.

He flashes me a grin before ramming his shoulder straight into my gut.

A guttural sound rips from my chest, and I keep my stance wide as I shove the punk off of me. “The hell’s your goddamn problem?” I growl, trying to keep my cool.

Don’t let Fallon see you lose your shit. Don’t let her see the kind of fighting that you’re capable of.

And that would have been the goddamn end of it if he hadn’t spat the next words out of his mouth.

“She friends with your Carter U quarterback or something? Hell man, that’s gotta suck. Knowing that she wants to deep-throat that raw NFL pipe–”

My stick hits the ice at the same second that my quad connects with his groin, and I tear the strap on my gloves open with my teeth as O’Neill stumbles on his blades. The malicious look in his eyes turns to something more aggressive and he throws down his helmet, the clank of it drowned out by the sounding buzzer calling time.

He might be angry that I’ve just bruised his balls, but I’m fucking furious.

If he wants to fight dirty, I’m game.

He swipes his helmet off the ice and swings it hard at mine, red hot pain immediately exploding in the side of my face. I’m so pissed off that I revel in the bite of it before chucking my own helmet down and roughly rolling back my shoulders. O’Neill uses the second of distraction to ram his torso into mine and this time we hit the ground with a loud resounding thud, O’Neill cursing explicitly as he lands at a stupid angle on his side.

I shove up from my position and grip him into a headlock, leaning closer so that he can hear me over all of the arena noise.

“Y’all fuckers weren’t taught any manners at this college, huh?” I ask him, swiping my shoulder over my cheek when I feel something warm and wet on my skin. I grunt at the sting and then rub my hand over the area. When I pull it back I see that my digits are coated red.

“You’re too bulky for this game,” he grits out, probably because, now that I’ve got a forearm around his throat, he’s realising how stupid it was to bait a guy who weighs two hundred and twenty pounds. “Quality players are lean.”

I snicker, because that has got to be the dumbest shit that I’ve ever heard, and I shove his hands away from me as he tries to land a backwards hit. “I’m too bulky? We’re in the same division, asshole.”

I push O’Neill off of me and exhale gruffly as I slowly get to my feet, disorientated by the scuffle and feeling a pounding in my head. Not sure if it’s because O’Neill got me with his helmet pretty good or because his words have fucked me off pretty bad. Either way, I shove a hand through my hair and try to regain some sense of balance because the past ten seconds have thrown me the hell off.

O’Neill is still shouting smack and I suddenly realise that Fallon might be able to hear him. Still a little unbalanced I turn to skate over to the Carter U box before realising that myteammates are grouped around me. They’re holding off O’Neill as he tries to shove his way in my direction and I almost huff out a laugh at how stupid that is.

If we brawl you’ll end up on a gurney, lightweight. Take a fucking hint, man.

The audience must have finally caught on to the fight because there’s a thunderous rise in the crowd’s volume, making me unsteady. Tanner grips a hand around the back of my neck in a rough gesture of support, and we trudge on our skates over to our exit gate, my breathing erratic as O’Neill’s words course through my mind.

It’s notwhathe said, because Fallon’s sex life before I came into the picture is none of my business, unless she chooses for it to be. It’s the fact that he dared even think about it, to talk about it like that when she was only ten feet away from him. Potentially within hearing distance. For the sole purpose of ruining her night.

Hurting me? Fine.

But hurting her? Not a chance.

I try to get my eyes over to where Fallon is sat with Winter but there are too many people in the way obscuring the view. I turn on my boots and jerk my chin over at Caden. He skates up next to me and I nod my head towards the Carter U seats.

“Can you get the girls?” I ask him, my voice low and hoarse. I need to get my hands on Fallon as soon as possible so that I can apologise about the shit-show that I accidentally just put on for her.

You want her to trust you but you just showed her that you’re a damn brute.

What the hell is wrong with me?

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