Page 60 of Dirty Pucker

She leans back at the harshness in my tone. “What?”

“Don’t go out with him, Ingrid. He’s a scumbag.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

Warmup time ends and we get called back to the locker room. I huff out a breath. There’s no time for me to explain.

I hold her bright blue gaze. “Just don’t, okay? Trust me on this.”

She blinks, her eyes turning soft as she looks at me. “Okay.”

I head to the locker room, anger and adrenaline spiking through me, desperate to take it out on the ice.

Chapter 21

Del

Iset up for puck drop at center ice, at the beginning of the second period. My entire body is vibrating. I feel like a caged animal aching to break out and go fucking crazy.

Vegas is two points ahead of us thanks to shitty call after shitty call by the officials.

I glare at the Bandits center I’m up against, determined to catch up.

The second the puck hits the ice, I hit it back to Theo, who takes off.

I speed ahead to cover him, but before I get too far, Owen catches up to me, getting in my way.

Vegas’s defense is all over Theo, so he passes back to me. I shove Owen, but I’m a second too late and miss the pass. One of the Vegas wingers scoops it up and takes off with it across the ice.

Our guys speed up to cover him, but he takes a shot at our net. Thankfully Blomdahl is all over it, stopping it with his glove.

The home crowd groans in disappointment as I holler, “Fuck yeah!” at Blomdahl.

We set up for the next puck drop.

“You think you could put in a good word for me with Ingrid?”

I twist around at the sound of Owen’s taunting voice.

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

He aims a taunting smirk at me. “Be a little less obvious that you’re into her, Richards.”

I skate off, but he follows me.

“Let me guess. You asked her out and she said no. Is that why you look so fucking pissed every time I talk to her?”

I ignore him and get into position. I’ve gotten used to guys trash-talking me during games. It comes with the territory of playing pro hockey. Guys say shit to throw you off and get under your skin. I do it too. I’ve said plenty of awful stuff to get into my opponent’s head.

“You’re so hard up for her, dude. It’s pathetic,” Owen taunts.

I grit my teeth. A million insults rest on my tongue. But I stay quiet.

He shoves my shoulder, but I don’t react, even though it’s tempting to throw down with him right now.

If this were just a few months ago, I wouldn’t hesitate to fight.

I glance over at the Bashers bench and see Coach Porter frowning at us as we set up for puck drop. He made it clear he doesn’t want any more dirty fights.

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