Page 18 of The Stud

There’s a clear urge to smirk that she undeniably fights by biting her bottom lip. “And um…” she flicks the strands away from her eyes once more, “what’s your favorite fall drink, Frosky?”

“Wanna know?” Knowing I’ve got her full attention effortlessly leads to me needing to keep it, so I look directly into the camera and cockily wink. “Gotta watch my show.”

“Stick taps for the segue, Snowman.”

“That hurt, Hoss?” The corner of my lips kick up even higher at the same time I begin to retreat towards the ice. “Saying something genuinelyniceto me?”

“Definitely hurt.” It’s her turn to faintly beam. “But not injured.”

GordieHowegivemestrengthtonotroyally fuck this up.

“Those aresynonyms,” criticizes Audrey in obvious irritation.

“Not in hockey,” I offhandedly correct while maintaining unbreakable eye contact with Hoss. “And not to the woman I wanna see wearing my number by the end of the season.”

Chapter 4

Tanner

Why is getting Hoss to simply shoot the shite with me harder than fucking contract negotiations?

With the way she huffs and puffs and verbally kicks me in the dick, you’d think I was asking her for a twelve mill, four-year franchise extension when I’ve spent the last six months on LTIR.

And it’sonly meshe puts the “fuck off” crest on her chest for.

And honestly?

That’s really not the “only me” privies I’m looking for.

“You haven’t answered asinglesegment question this week,” Hoss grumbles from where she’s sitting on our bench in the rink. “You want me to get fired?”

“Iwantto get to know you.”

“Maybe she doesn’t wantyouto knowher,” Khurana rudely interjects in tandem with lowering his camera. “Maybe she doesn’t want someone who was caught over the summer putting a Barcelona bunny into a Lyft after a quickie in a club back alley to know her. Maybe she doesn’t want someone who can’t think with anything besides his dick to have that much personal information about her.”

“First off, that Barcelona bunny wasn’t a bunny, but a mate’s very lost sister in town for an architectural conference.” My glove covered palms land firmly on the banister at the same time I bite, “And maybeyouweren’t invited into this conversation.”

“Maybe she wants me in it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter what she wants.”

“And maybethat’swhy she would rather ride a Zamboni than you.”

Hoss snickers and extends him her fist for bumping.

One check.

That’s all it would take to scratch his Machiavellian tactics from a play.

Stick taps to Father for that crossword answer this morning.

Doublestick taps for it finding its way into another part of my day.

“Snowman, I have to show Henningtonsomethingfrom thisMasked Moronreality nightmare by the end of the day and raw footage of you lacing up your pracky skates isn’t going to cut it.”

I take the open shot to speak the only language I swear she understands.

Asshole.

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