Page 3 of Two Guys One Puck
He hisses and shoves past me, and I know I got to him this time.
“Love you too, darling,” I call to add insult to injury.
He whips around, but the puck flies by him, and he’s not distracted enough to not take the play. He intercepts it and comes at me. I skate with him and use my size to maneuver him towards the wall, giving him a taste of his own medicine. I slam him into the boards and steal the puck.
I pass it up and flash him a grin. “You must hate finding someone who can keep up with you. That’s your problem, isn’t it?”
“You fucking wish, princess.” His words say one thing, but his eyes tell me a whole other.
I drink it in, laughing as I take off to help my team work the puck up the ice. Logan drives the puck into the back of the net, and I turn just in time to catch Ktytor’s irises ablaze with rage.I pinky wave again.
We’re up one, and we’ve both already qualified for the postseason, so it doesn’t fucking matter if we win this game ornot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win just to stick it to him.
He’s on me the second the puck is back down, and he doesn’t get the fuck out of my face. He slams me into the wall over and over.
My ribs are on fire, and I back off him, seeing red. Five minutes left. I just need to shut him down for five more minutes. But he’s taking a page out of my book and not even trying to go after the puck. He’s solely focused on me.
We’re nearly fighting, and I’m shocked the refs haven’t called it.
Both teams are about to erupt. We’ve been brewing all season—I feel it in the air. They hate us as much as we hate them.
Ktytor throws me into the boards, and I’m not even near the puck. His elbow slams into my injured ribs, and I lose it. After three games of taking his shit while Coach told me to ignore it, this is too much.I’m done.
I shove off the ice, throwing myself at him and dropping my gloves on the way. He grins when he sees me coming for it. The fucking masochist. He’d been gunning for this. He drops his gloves like it’s an absolute pleasure.
I throw the first punch, and my fist connects with his cheek, snapping his head to the side. He somehow keeps his skates under him and turns back on me, throwing one of his own. I’m ready for it, blocking and using my right for a jab. We can’t exactly get in any really good shots with this much gear, on skates and with as exhausted as we are after playing for almost three periods, but that doesn’t stop either of us. I don’t care if I spend the rest of the game in the box. It’s only a couple of minutes.He gets me in the lower ribs, right where my pads end, and I grunt as pain explodes.
“Motherfucker,” I say through my teeth, my vision narrowing some from the pain.
“Don’t like taking what you dish out, baby doll?” He turns his head, spitting blood on the ice while the refs drag us apart.
“Fuck you. You started this.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, sweetie.”
“I’m not done with you,” I throw back.
The refs get between us, dragging us apart enough to stop the fight.
We stand there for another second, both breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes are usually blue and as cold as the ice we’re on, but now, they dance with flames. It’s the warmest I’ve ever seen them.
“Want to continue this after, beautiful?” He flicks his tongue over his bloody teeth with his stupid accent, and I hate him for it.
“Name the fucking time and place, asshole.”
“Is a date.” Amusement curls in his words, wrapping around me, and I hate him for it.
I’m out of comebacks and being forced towards the box anyway.
Why does this motherfucker get to me?
The five minutes will take us through the end of the game, and it won’t change things since both teams are a man down.
Or so I thought.
We lose, and Coach Hawkes isn’t happy with me.But I do not give a single fuck. I’ve kept it off the ice all fucking year with that asshole, and hitting him in the face might just get me through a post season game against them.
Might.
