Page 51 of These Wicked Games
I skate my way down the ice to Andre, who’s stretching now, and while warm-ups are in no way sexual, seeing him bent over stretching his legs is doing shit to me. “Hey.” He looks up, then gets up off the ice and takes off his helmet. “What were you doing?”
“Huh?” He takes his water bottle, squirting some in his mouth.
“It looks like you were talking to the crease.” He looks away. “What? What were you doing?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Come on. I’ve seen you crying on my dick. Why can’t you tell me?”
His hazel eyes pinch on me. “First of all, those were happy tears. Second. Fuck off, Oli.”
I grin; I can’t help it. “What is it. Tell me.”
“I hate you.”
“We’ve established. Now tell me.”
He looks to the side and I think I see crimson bloom across his freckles. “I uh, I um, name the goal crease.” My brows scrunch. “And uh, give them backstories.”
“Um, what?”
“It’s like, each place we go, I give the goals names and backstories. It helps me to defend the net better, I don’t know. Shut the fuck up.”
“I didn’t say anything.” I choke back a laugh, looking at the one he’s standing next to, then looking at the other end. “I’m already regretting asking, but what are their names?”
Andre glares at me for a moment. “This is Tiffany. Not Tiff. Tiffany. She really hates when people shorten it.” I wait for him to elaborate. “That post over there is Oscar, her estranged husband.She had a thing with the goal post in New York. Valentina. She’s Italian. They had an affair.”
“An affair?”
“You see, Tiffany and Oscar have been together since they were in high school and their relationship is fine, ya know. It’s fine, but Tiffany is looking for something. It’s been over a decade and lately she’s felt like something is missing.” Andre leans in, dead serious. “Her and Oscar haven’t even had sex in like seven months. She also discovered later in life she’s queer and wanted to experiment. Oscar wasn’t into an open relationship, though, even for experiments.” Andre leans in, and I nearly flinch away at the close proximity. “He’s very insecure in the bedroom.”
“I’m afraid to ask but . . . why the one in New York?”
“Because Valentina is a smoke show, why else?”
“I . . . don’t know what to say to this.”
I jolt forward with impact. “Holy shit.” Ryker nearly knocks me over, looping his arm around my shoulders. “Did you fucking hear? I mean, Andre probably has but—”
“Heard what?” Andre asks.
“Tripp is here! Tripp fucking Ostrander.” He shakes his head. Normally I’d be so excited about this. Yeah, he kicked me off the Titans but I get it. I assaulted his son and I don’t hold that against him.
Something’s off, though. It looks like fear flashes in Andre’s eyes. All the animation he just had telling me about his crazy ritual . . . gone. Numb.
“So exciting. You think he’d sign my jersey?” he asks Andre. “No, that’s lame. I better be cool.”
There’s something there that scrapes atmy brain.
“When I escaped.”
I didn’t understand what Andre had meant—he’d quickly corrected himself. Still, there’s something there that makes my gut twist. I hear voices rise behind us when the man in question comes out on the ice along with Coach. Everyone stops talking as they skate to the center of the ice. We all skate toward Coach, and I look behind and watch Andre slowly trailing behind us. He looks tired.
“Holy shit, holy shit,” Ryker whispers. “I can’t believe this! It’s so fucking cool. You’re so lucky.” Ryker shakes Andre around the shoulders. “Sorry, I’m losing it right now. It must be awesome, man.”
“Yup,” Andre says tightly. “So . . . awesome.”
I watch him, and his eyes flick briefly to mine before looking forward. His helmet is still off and I can vaguely see some of the fading bruises from my belt on his neck.
