Page 59 of Stick Handled

“Yes,” I breathe, my hands clutching his T-shirt. “You are.”

Last night flashes through my mind, and before I can think twice about it, I tug on his T-shirt. He’s too tall for me to kiss without him having to lean forward, but thankfully, he gets the hint and moves his face lower.

“Me?” he asks with a smirk. “I’m trying to teach you how to turn without breaking your ankle.”

“You’re teaching me other stuff, too.”

“Mhm,” he agrees with a hum. “And what have you learned?”

He lets me pull him toward me, his lips finding mine. The kiss is soft at first, but when I press harder, it deepens. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer, and my insides turn into jelly. Heat pools deep in my belly as he presses his large frame against me.

A sharp creak breaks the moment.

I pull back, breathless, and glance toward the sound. The hinges of the rink’s front doors squeak again, and I catch a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing into the hallway.

My stomach drops.

“Damien,” I whisper, panic creeping into my voice.

He’s already looking in the same direction, his expression hardening.

“Fuck.” His jaw tightens, and his hand slides from my waist to my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.

But the dread in my chest only grows.Someone saw us.

Chapter twenty

~DAMIEN~

The puck drops, and the game ignites like a spark to gasoline. Rowan wins the faceoff with a clean swipe, and the play unfolds fast. It’s a blur of black and white jerseys, blades slicing the ice, sticks clashing like swords. The Vipers are damn good, but we’re better.

Ares moves the puck up the ice with a series of quick passes, staying just out of reach of Jake Barren and his goons. I hang back, reading the play and watching for my opening. The Vipers set up a wall of defense near the crease, and I see Rowan peel away from his mark, his stick tapping twice against the ice—a signal. I cut left, drawing their enforcer with me, and Rowan takes the shot.

The puck slams into the goalie’s pads and ricochets off. A scramble erupts in the crease, bodies crashing into each other as everyone fights for control. I lunge forward, stick extended, and manage to flick the puck loose. Ares snags it and fires, his slapshot like a bullet.

Goal.

The red light flashes, and the arena erupts. The crowd’s up on their feet, fists pumping in the air. Ares skates past me with a smirk.

“Nice assist, Colton,” he says, tapping his stick against mine. He rarely uses my last name, even when we’re playing.

“You’re welcome, Black,” I shoot back, grinning.

The game resets, and the intensity ramps up. Hits come harder. Plays get faster. My job is to keep the pressure on, and that means getting in their faces. I shove one of Jake’s wingmen into the boards, the sound of the collision echoing through the arena. He bounces off and glares at me.

“What? Too much for you?” I grin, skating backward with my arms wide.

It’s midway through the third period, and tension is hanging by a thread. We’re still up by one, but barely. Every pass, every block, every second feels like it could tip the scales. The Vipers are playing dirty now, elbows high, sticks slashing, chirps flying. But that’s hockey. We’ll be lucky if we win this without any injuries.

Jake has been shadowing me the whole game. He’s been in my ear every time we’re within reach of each other. Talking shit, trying to get under my skin. Usually, I tune it out. But tonight, I’m teetering on the edge.

We’re waiting for a faceoff near our blue line when he sidles up to me.

“Colton,” he says, his voice low enough that the refs can’t hear. “Did DiMarco’s little sister tell you about our dance at the club the other day?”

My spine stiffens. I turn to look at him, and he’s smiling like he’s got me on a leash.

“Ah, so she didn’t tell you?” he continues, casually tapping his stick against the ice. “I just thought you should know, since it looks like you’re fucking her.”

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