Page 62 of The Obvious Check

Fuck. If I didn’t want her before, Ineededher now.

“Heads-up!”

Scotty’s voice snaps me out of it just in time to catch the puck with my stick and push forward.

Focus!

Coach barks instructions, but they barely register. My thoughts are stuck on how perfectly I fit between Savannah’s thighs. How she pulled my hair when she was kissing me, and how good she felt grinding herself against me.

I trip on the ice, something that never happens, and Alex steals the puck from me with ease. I’m a fucking mess and I can only imagine how badly I’d be playing if Savannah had actually come to watch me today. I wouldn’t be practicing. I’d be groveling on the floor, desperate for her to kiss me again. It’s so stupid. It’s like one moment with her lips on mine has been enough to rewire my entire damn brain.

Dash is my next drill partner, and as he watches my every move, I realize he’s the only person I want to talk to. He’s the only person who knows what’s going on with Savannah and I need his advice.

“Are you going to shoot, Bright?” Erik asks from the line behind me, and I blow out a breath, focusing on this goal.

Dash crouches low, the only thing visible beneath that oversized goalie mask is his death glare locked on me.

I line up my shot, aim for the corner, and fire.

The puck veers off slightly.

Thwack!

And nails him right in the crotch.

I wince as he lets out a muffled grunt and folds forward.

“Ouch,” Erik says from behind, taking in a sharp, uneasy breath, and even I feel the pain.

The growl Dash lets out could rival a bear before he falls onto the ice, face first, with a thud. He’s face down, arms splayed out, and doesn’t move. Not even a little flinch.

Well, shit. Have I just killed our goalie?

“Dash?” I say, skating a little closer to him. The rink is quiet as we all watch, waiting to see our sasquatch of a teammate move. He doesn’t. I kick him lightly on the side. “You okay?”

“What the hell was that, Cade?” Scotty pushes me out of the way, crouches down, and tries to talk to Dash. He groans a little, which makes me feel marginally better. At least he’s alive.

“My bad,” I mutter, raising my hands, along with my stick.

“Where does it hurt?”

Erik snorts. “Do you really need to ask that, Scotty? The guy just took a puck to the balls, and you seem to think your dulcet tones are going to make it all better.”

“Shut up, Steele.”

I guess things still haven’t calmed between the two of them. I’m not sure what went on, but Erik and Scotty haven’t been the same since Scotty’s birthday last year. Something I should remind him of when he pesters me about playing nice with Dash.

Erik purses his lips before bringing his attention to me. “That’s pretty cold, C. If this is how you’re acting now, I’d hate to see what you’d do to the guy if he married Madison.”

I screw my brows together.

“When, more like—” Erik corrects himself.

I stop myself.

“For the love of God, Erik. Why would you put something like that in his head?” Scotty groans, calling over the coaches to help lift Dash.

“Married?” I whisper, repeating the word because it sticks in my head.

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