Page 7 of Dirty Play

Walking through the halls of the arena the next day, I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting to Rowan DiMarco again.Infuriating. That’s the word that comes to mind when I think about him. Big, tattooed, and handsome. A trifecta of trouble that seems to have everyone hanging on his every word. The kind of man who probably never has to ask for anything because the world just hands it to him on a silver platter. Well, not me.

I’m not here to feed his ego or cater to his mood swings. I’m here to prove—to this team, myself, and my parents, who said I wouldn’t last in this job—that I belong. And if Rowan thinks he can throw a wrench in my plans because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, he’s sorely mistaken.

Still, his image lingers in my head—that towering frame, those sharp green eyes that seem to notice everything, and that maddening smirk. I shake the thoughts away with a small sigh.

The faint sounds of blades scraping against ice catch my attention as I pass by the practice rink. I step inside, my eyes drawn to the team already deep into their drills.

As I step inside, the steady hum of activity echoes through the arena. The air of the halls fades into the raw energy of the rink. It’s freezing in here, but seeing the players out on the ice makes me forget about the chill.

I spot an empty seat near the middle of the stands, next to a young woman with auburn hair tied in a loose braid, green eyes framed by long lashes, and a scattering of freckles across her nose. She’s watching the ice intently, her lips curved into a small smile.

“Mind if I sit here?” I ask, my voice low so I don’t disturb her.

“Oh, not at all! Go ahead.” She glances up, her smile widening.

I slide into the seat, my attention immediately being pulled to the ice. The guys are split into two teams for practice, and the play is fast—so fast that my eyes struggle to keep up. I’ve seen hockey games before, but this is different. These are professional players honing their skills, and these are some of the best in the league.

Ares Black, number 8, barrels down the ice like a freight train, his sheer size defying the laws of physics as he weaves past defenders with startling agility.

“Wow,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

The girl beside me chuckles. “Yeah, they’re something else, aren’t they? No matter how many times I watch, I still have that same reaction.”

I nod absently, my gaze shifting to number 13. That’s Damien Colton, from what I remember. He’s lightning-quick, his skates carving sharp turns as he races across the ice. His passes are so precise they seem premeditated, each one landing perfectly on his teammates’ sticks.

But then there’s number 19. Rowan DiAsshole.

He’s everywhere at once, orchestrating chaos like a maestro conducting a symphony. He moves with an uncanny grace, his powerful strides eating up the ice. At one point, he takes the puck, his eyes scanning the ice like a predator sizing up its prey.

Two defenders close in on him, but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he feigns left, drawing them both out of position before cutting sharply to the right and slipping the puck through their legs.

My breath catches as he speeds toward the net, his stick dancing with the puck like it’s an extension of his body. The goalie braces, but Rowan doesn’t even give him a chance. He fires a shot so clean, so calculated, that it’s in the back of the net before the goalie’s gloves can move.

“Langley, you’re distracted again,” Rowan barks at him. “Wake the fuck up!”

“Holy…” I trail off, my words stolen by the display.

“Impressive, isn’t he?” the girl says beside me, a knowing smile on her lips.

I can only nod, my eyes still glued to Rowan. There’s a reason he’s the captain, and it’s written in every move he makes.

When I finally tear my gaze away, I glance at the girl beside me. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Livia, team PR.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Livia.” Her smile widens. “I’m Avery. It’s nice to have someone to watch them with, finally.” She lets out a little laugh.

“You work with the team?” I ask, curiosity piqued.

“Not exactly,” she says, her tone casual. “I’m just here a lot.”

So, one of the players’ girlfriends, I’m assuming.

My eyes drift back to the ice, where Rowan barks orders to his teammates, his voice cutting through the cacophony like a whip.

“He’s a pain in the ass, though. That one,” I say, nodding toward Rowan. “The captain.”

“Yeah, that’s Rowan for you.” Avery laughs again, a light, melodic sound. “Though the same thing can be said about all of them from time to time.”

“He’s got the biggest ego I’ve ever encountered.” I shake my head. “It’s like he’s trying to sabotage me. And I get it; he’s used to everyone bending over backward for him. But his attitude? It’s not going to work with me.” I glance over at the girl, Avery, and catch her looking at me with amusement. “Sorry, I guess I just need to vent.”

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