Page 40 of Major Penalty

I inhale slowly, my grip tightening around the stylus in my hand.

Stubborn.

Rowan said Ares wasn’t stubborn just to be stubborn. But that’s exactly what this looks like. I exhale, ready to walk away, ready to stop watching him like I’m waiting for an answer.

But then I hear them. The giggles, the feminine voices. The sharp sound of ladies calling his name.

“Ares!”

I pause, glance to the side, and see a group of women, all leaning against the rink’s barrier, watching the players like they’re on display.

Puck bunnies.

And I know they’re here for all of them.

For Ares, Damien, Rowan, Langley, Davidson, and the entire team. But the way they’re looking at Ares? The way they’re only calling his name right now?

Giggling, flipping their hair, biting their lips…

A slow, burning heat creeps up my spine, curling in my stomach. My fingers tighten around my tablet as I force myself to look at Ares to see if he notices or if he cares.

And he doesn’t. He doesn’t even glance their way. He keeps skating. Practicing like they don’t exist. And that should be enough. That should be all I need. But it isn’t.

Because even though he doesn’t show it, I hate seeing those women call out to him—as if he’s available. As if they can have him. “I talked to Black,” my dad’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I turn toward him, startled.

“What?” My heart skips a beat at the sight of my dad’s serious expression. Oh, no. Does he know about the kiss?

“Ares,” he specifies like I don’t know his last name. Like he hasn’t talked about him for years, like these four letters don’t make my heart skip a beat at the thrill they bring. “I talked to him about that injury of his. I think it’s his hip. I’ve been watching him favor it, and it’s getting worse. I told him yesterday to get it checked out.”

“Oh.” I exhale, relief.

“Oh?” My dad narrows his eyes.

“I mean, yeah, it’s his hip. I noticed it, too.” I clear my throat, straightening.

“I guessed you did.” His gaze sharpens. “Did he come to you?”

I hesitate. Technically, yes, but not because he was following orders, and definitely not for a professional assessment.

“I tried,” I say instead. “He came in a few days ago, but he…wasn’t exactly cooperative.”

I can feel my cheeks getting warm at the memory.

My dad exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“He thinks he can just push through it,” he mutters. “I need him to come see you today.”

I swallow, my fingers tightening around the tablet in my hands. Visions of the way his body tensed under my touch, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his breath caught before he growled, deep, rough, and—nope. Not thinking about that.

“Keep an eye on him,” my dad says. “And get him checked out today, please. I won’t let him play either way, but I need to know how bad it is.”

I blink, my heart stuttering. “You think he’ll listen to me?”

“He has to,” he confirms, lifting a brow at me, his expression stern. “I care about that boy. I don’t want him hurting himself because he can’t sit his ass down for a week or two. Do your job, Irene.”

“Of course.” I nod quickly.

But as he turns and walks off, my face burns. Because I know damn well that whatever is happening between me and Ares?

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