Page 37 of Puck'N Enemy
His hands are deep inside his jacket pockets. He keeps his hood low, hiding his face from the rest of the world. It’s like he’s used to blending with his background. He grunts from time to time, probably feeling the punches he took earlier.
But his demeanor is calmer now. His shoulders are loose and relaxed. There’s a softness about him that I haven’t seen since high school.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging him with my elbow.
“I’m fine,” he mutters. “It’s you I’m worried about. I still don’t think you should get involved in this mess.”
I come to a halt. “How can I not?” I say in a low, angry tone. “I’m not going to sit back and watch while someone hurts you. Those men could’ve dragged you back to Pete. You should know when to ask for help, Dylan. You can’t live your life acting like you’re too damn noble for your own good.”
He goes quiet, still pondering over the things he has no control over.
“Hey, are you hungry?” I ask, catching sight of a burger joint.
“What?”
I gesture toward the café. “I’m starving.” Without waiting for his answer, I stride forward and walk through the entrance.
“I wanted to go home early,” Dylan says, walking right behind me. “I have Coach’s meds with me and he might need them.”
“He’ll be fine for a few hours without you fussing about him,” I say, sliding into a booth at the very back of the dining area. “Let’s eat something and come up with a plan.”
A middle-aged waitress in a pink dress ambles over to our table. She doesn’t say anything but stands before us with a notebook and a pen.
“Two hamburgers, two chili cheese fries, and two Cokes,” I order quickly.
The waitress’s gaze flickers toward Dylan but he stays silent. I’m sure he’s more than happy with whatever I’ve ordered.
“I bet you miss this kind of cuisine in your fancy Silverlake University campus,” I tease him as the waitress walks away.
Dylan gives a familiar lopsided grin. “They do love their quinoa salads and Buddha bowls.”
“That’s just sad,” I say, chuckling. “You should consider defecting over to the Thunder Knights. I swear we won’t force-feed you rabbit food.”
He laughs, sending warmth settling in my chest.
“So, how much food does that Mitchikov guy consume?” he asks. “The dude looks like he eats a bull for breakfast every day.”
A loud chuckle escapes me as I’m reminded of my favorite defenseman.
“He’s not bad, you know?” I say, wishing Dylan would get a chance to meet my teammates who’re more like family to me.
“You never got socked by him, I bet,” he mutters, looking annoyed.
“Oh, I got bulldozed by him way too many times to count,” I tell him, chuckling. “Mitchikov likes to bump into us from time to time to keep us alert. Just the other day, he collided with Bastian and knocked him on his ass. He was out for the rest of the practice session.
A carefree chuckle escapes him. His green eyes shine with humor as he tries to control his laughter.
The waitress arrives with our order and soon, the air around me is thick with the aroma of cheese and grilled meat. Dylan eagerly grabs a burger and takes a big bite.
Some of the juices dribble down his chin, making me want to lick his skin.
I take deep breaths, desperate to calm the fiery emotions rising within me.
Reaching out, I grab a handful of fries from Dylan’s plate.
“Hey!” he shouts immediately.
I shove the fries in my mouth and grin. “Sorry,” I say, feeling not a shred of remorse. “It’s a habit to steal your fries.”
