Page 116 of Two Guys One Puck
If he wants me to be a problem, he can have it.
I pinky wave at Seaborn and he scowls across the ice, and I cannot wait to push all his buttons. And if that makes me a terrible person, I don’t care.
We clash as soon as the puck drops. It’s not just Seaborn and me. It’s both teams.
Going into the third period,we already have a hundred minutes of penalties awarded, setting a record for the most ever awarded in a Myth League game.
And it’s not stopping anytime soon.
I still can’t get Seaborn to hit me, and the game is still tied 0-0.
My team wins the puck drop, and I race towards the goal. I need to score to piss him off.
We slam into each other, fighting for position.
I need to piss him off.
“I love when you dry hump me on the ice, sweetheart.”
He growls.
“Mmm. Right in my ear. Please.” I let my voice get higher, not even caring if I get called gay in that moment.
“Fucking stop,” he says through his teeth.
“Don’t stop.” I groan a little too realistically, swinging around him as one of my teammates passes the puck towards me.
He hesitates—only for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough time. I redirect the puck and drive it into the back of the goal.
I scream, throwing my fist in the air when the light flashes. My teammates slam into me to celebrate. Now all we have to do is not fuck it up for the next eight minutes.
But when we meet again, Seaborn has found his fucking balls.
I’m living for it. I want all of his fucking rage. I use it to score a second goal.
“Two zero baby doll. No way you’re coming back from that.”
“Ten goals won’t make you miss my cock less,” Seaborn says and steals the puck from me sending it down the ice.
My ears ring.
He laughs, slamming his shoulder into me as he goes past. I skate after him, seething.
“Anyone could have heard you,” I hiss.
“And?”
“And how about don’t be a bitter bitch? You can’t have me anymore,” I snap, finally having had it with him.
He blows out a breath and throws his gloves off.“You’re the only bitter one. Because you can’t fucking let anyone close, and that’s your weakness. It’s easier not to care, so you don’t allow it. That makes you a coward.” His words get under my skin.
There is little worse than being called a coward to my people.
Even if he’s right, my blood boils.
We trade a few blows, and he clocks me in the jaw.
The pain pisses me off more, and I can’t walk any of this back. I can’t even stop the fight, and maybe I want him to hate me because hating me is better than not caring.
