Page 10 of These Wicked Games
“And maybe a pig will crawl out of my ass.” Atlas shakes his head. I ignore the idiots I call friends, and watch a waitress walk up to our table. She’s pretty, with black hair slicked back in a pony tail, ebony skin that seems to shimmer under the lights, and a wide smile that promises a whole hell of a lot of mischief. Her eyes sparkle, gliding over each of us. Her name tag says Vanessa.
Atlas’s attention snaps like a fire cracker as she juts her hip out, holding out a pad of paper. “What can I get you gentlemen?” Her honeyed voice is sweet and smoky.
She is gorgeous, but I feel nothing. Am I even trying to feel something? I’m not sure what’s happening to me lately, but I’m just not feeling it. The first few years of my Otters career I’ll admit, my bed was never cold. Lately shit’s just been missing, and I don’t know if it’s me or something deeper that I’m not okay with picking at. “That depends. Are you on the menu—”
Grey slaps the back of Atlas’s head. “Manners. Try again.”
She shakes her head, looking to Grey. “What about you, since you seem to know how to speak to women?”
“Who’s father time now, prick?” Grey preens, sticking out his tongue at Atlas then asking for whatever draft is on tap, while I ask for a whiskey neat. I need something to take this edge off. Ever since fighting with Andre today on the ice, I’ve felt this adrenaline that just won’t wane.
“Piña colada,” Atlas grumbles. We both look at him. “What?! They’re delicious.” His eyes go to the waitress, but thankfully he keeps his mouth shut.
“What’s the magic word?” she teases him.
“Please,” Atlas mutters, settling back in the seat. “And I’m sorry.” He folds his arms over his wide chest. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Apology accepted.” She pinches his cheek. “You boys played a great game tonight.” Surprise hits me. “You, mister.” She points to me. “You’re not supposed to punch the opposing goalie, though. Isn’t that like, rule number one in hockey?”
I laugh. “Can’t help it when he has such a punchable face.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “Well, be nice. No causing problems in my bar.” She moves to the side, looking behind her. “Mister punchable face is a regular, and a friend of mine.” It takes me a minute to see him, but when I do my heart stops. No! Not stops. Itburns. Ignites! Fury rolls through me. My fists clench under the table. Andre is seated on the far bar stool, talking—no, laughing—with another bartender. “Be nice.” She pats my shoulder, walking away.
Andre turns his head, his gaze landing on mine with a hardened look. Fuck, I’m still staring. “Whoa, chill.” Grey kicks me under the table. “Game’s over.” If only my hatred for that prick ended there. What Andre and I have goes beyond the ice. Rivals don’t stop being rivals when the clock runs out and the skates come off. Especially when one of them sabotaged the other’s career . . . or tried to.
Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. My fists clench again. “Dude, chill.” Grey’s eyes level me, center me. While I love my friends, they just don’t fully understand it. Grey is the voice ofreason—he doesn’t give in to pressure or stress—and his level head is one of the many reasons why he’s such a good player. If he wanted my position, he could easily be captain. Meanwhile, Atlas is a barely contained twister.
“Here you are, fellas.” Vanessa drops our drinks off and gives Atlas an extra piña colada. His eyes brighten. “On the house.” She winks, then turns away from us.
“I’m in love,” Atlas sighs, taking a loud slurp, and Grey just shakes his head, grabbing the spare drink. “Hey! Get your own!” Grey ignores him, taking a swig then putting it down. Atlas’s eyes glare a hole in his head as he sets it down.
“Delicious, huh!” Grey chuckles, messing up his hair.
We play Fresno tomorrow. Not that I’m worried about it; it’s just the travel that sucks. After, though, we have a stretch of home games coming. Thank fuck.
“Any word from Coach about Rocky?” Grey asks me.
I shake my head. After my drug test—negative, thank you very fucking much—I texted coach before we all went out, but no word yet. I hate seeing my players get hurt. “He had to have fractured something.” Being able to skate off the ice is a good sign, but Rocky being carried out on a stretcher makes me sick. Head injuries are no fucking joke.
“What do you think we’ll do?” As a captain I’m used to taking charge, but right now I’m not really sure. We could pull a goalie out of the reserves, but we’re not far into this season and both our main goalies are now injured. Kieffer, our first goalie, will be out for the rest of the season, if he even comes back at all. He’d gotten hurt over the summer in a boating accident. Thankfully he’ll be okay, but the damage done to his leg was detrimental. Wealready pulled Landon from our farm league, and now, depending on what’s going on with Rocky . . . Yeah, it’s not looking good.
“I’ll talk to Coach tomorrow,” I say.
Movement catches my eye as Andre gets up off the bar stool, and it’s now I see he’s not with anyone. With the crowd around him I’d thought at least some of them must have been teammates. He seems alone, though. His long hair is piled on his head, a couple of strands falling out, and the black dress shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned down to his sternum, showing off the results of his hard workout routine. As he walks through the crowd, a woman walking past him runs her hands along his stomach as she passes, and he looks back at her with a wink before turning and ignoring the obvious interest.
Sweetheart, he is not interested.
Anger ignites inside me and I have no clue where it comes from.
His eyes flick to mine, then he shakes his head with a smirk. Fuck, I have to stop staring at him. He makes a beeline for our table. Fuck! My chest becomes tight. I squeeze my shirt, begging for the claws at my throat to let up. I can’t breathe. As he saunters up to our table I can’t look away, fixing my eyes on him. My jaw cracks as my teeth grind. “What’s the matter, Oli? Do you want an autograph? Big fan?”
Downing the rest of my drink, I shake my head. “Just wondering how someone can fit their helmet on with a head that large.” His eyes darken.
“Oh, is that it, Oli?” Andre grins. “Got a little size envy, do you?”
“Get fucked, Andre. Leave us alone,” Atlas warns.
He braces his hands on the table, and Grey curses under his breath. “I would love to leave you alone, but his eyes haven’t leftme since you guys sat down.” He gestures with his arms open wide. “Like what you see? Want me to do a little spin for you?”
