Page 31 of Dirty Pucker

Theo’s nostrils flare. He yanks his helmet off his head, revealing a sweaty mop of blond wavy hair plastered to his face. I bite back the urge to call him a pretty boy. I taunted him with that a few times on the ice when we played against each other. He fucking hated it.

But he’s not my opponent anymore. He’s my teammate. And if I want to fit in on this team—if I want to play for the Bashers long-term, I can’t fight him, even though my instinct is to do exactly that.

I need to back off. I need to let him take out his frustration and anger on me and then just walk away.

Because he’s right. I was flirting with Ingrid, and I know just how much the thought of me fooling around with his cousin pisses him off.

“My cousin is off-limits,” he bites. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Just then Xander runs over and pulls Theo back. He stands between us, facing Theo.

“Chill out,” Xander says to Theo before turning to me. “You should listen to him, Richards. What the fuck are you thinking, flirting with Ingrid?”

I grit my teeth, annoyed and pissed that they think they have a right to interfere with or comment on anything that I do.

I force myself to take a breath and remind myself why I’m here.

To play my ass off for the Bashers so they’ll keep me around long-term.

So I can be closer to my mom and sister. So I can protect them.

Everything takes a back seat to that. Even Ingrid.

Just then, Jason, the assistant coach, walks in. The three of us instantly step back from each other.

“Everything okay in here?” Jason asks, looking between us.

We all mutter “yeah” as we head to our lockers. Jason frowns like he doesn’t quite believe us, but after a few seconds, he walks off.

I shed my gear and grab my towel. On my way to the showers, I stop in front of Theo.

“I’ll stay away from Ingrid,” I mutter.

He looks up at me, his expression hard. “Good.”

I head to the shower, tense and pissed. When I finish, I head to my locker and get dressed. I grab my phone and see a missed call from my mom.

My heart races, even though I tell myself not to panic. It’s only one missed call. And she didn’t leave a message, which means it probably wasn’t important.

Or something bad happened to her and she didn’t have the chance to call me again or leave a message.

Panic rockets through me as I grab my gear bag and call her back. I hold my breath as I count the seconds, waiting for her to answer.

On the fifth ring, she finally picks up. “Hi, honey.”

“Mom, are you okay?” I ask as I quickly walk through the arena.

When she doesn’t answer right away, my pulse rockets.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I try my best to keep my voice even and calm.

“It’s probably nothing.” She pauses again. “It’s just that, this morning when I was watering the plants, I noticed the screen on the back window was pulled out.”

My anxiety spikes.

She sighs. “I’m probably overreacting…”

“You’re not, Mom,” I say in a gentle voice, even though my adrenaline is skyrocketing.

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