Page 48 of Two Guys One Puck
I take it before I can think twice about it. We shake, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, he pulls me closer, putting his lips next to my ear.
“Don’t lose on purpose just to get me inside you. You can ask me nicely to fuck you either way, princess.” He squeezes my hand.
I tighten my grip and we both pull. “You don’t have to pretend. I know what you really want,” I say into his jaw.
He stiffens and leans back enough to look into my eyes. “Are you going to fight me for that too, sweetheart?”
“If that’s what turns you on, baby.” I’m starting to lose feeling in my hand, but I don’t stop.
He exhales sharply, then releases, shoving me back. “It doesn’t matter. Say whatever you want. You’re not going to win.”
“I’ve gotten to you.” Glee colors my tone, and I make sure he can hear it.
It does exactly what I want it to do and makes him madder.
Rage boils through his mannerisms, but he gets it under control quickly. “Think whatever you want. You’ll see next week, sweetheart.”
SEVENTEEN
KTYTOR
He’s under my skin, and I hate it. It’s all I can think about for the next week. I want to fight him, but I also want him in my bed, and neither is okay.
I train harder than I ever have in my life, but I cannot work out why he got to me so badly that night. He’s always annoys me, but this is a whole new level.
Why did I even go over and talk to him? He was flirting with a woman, and I could have left him to pick her up, but I couldn’t watch him go home with her. Her hands all over him awoke a visceral poison in my veins. There was no stopping myself from going over there.
I don’t even know why. He’d probably slept with a dozen women since getting back to university. Everyone knew his reputation. Most of the Gods were that way. It was one of their recruiting points. I roll my eyes, grabbing the tape for my stick.
I can’t think about this. I need to get my head in the right space for the game. Taping my stick is a religious experience. It’s my time before I get on the ice to focus on those things that matter. My brother and my mother and getting them here with me to safety. Money is the only thing that would solve our problem. Money opens doors for lawyers and visas. So mybrother can go to school here. So maybe one day, I can convince my mother to move here and not be forced to watch the country she loves so much burn to ash.I know she won’t leave, but I have hope to give her some peace.
Every day, I sacrifice to get them here. I am their only hope. My mother works herself to the bone because money is tight for everyone with fucking inflation the way it is. I’m running out of time.
I need to get drafted this season, which means winning.
I won’t let Seaborn or anyone else stand in my way.
I getin position for the face-off, and I feel Seaborn’s gaze on me. I don’t look up. I can’t let him get in my head. I win the puck and take off towards their goal. Seaborn comes at me, and I spin the puck away from him. But he’s everywhere. When he said he knew me better, he wasn’t lying.
Had I let him see too much at camp?
Did he spend the rest of the summer studying my moves?
Whatever he’d done, he shut me down over and over. Every minute that ticked down on the clock made me more and more enraged.
We end the period 0-0.
Coach is yelling while the entire team sits in the locker room. I take my skates off and dig through my bag, finding a pack of cheap cigarettes at the bottom. I carefully peel away the plastic. They’re old, but I don’t care. I take one and matches and go to the shower. I feel Coach’s eyes on me, but he doesn’t stop me. He knows to leave me alone when I have to reset my head.
I turn on the shower to get the steam going so I don’t set off the smoke alarm, and I sit on the opposite bench, putting the cig between my lips. I strike a match and hold it to the end.
I know I shouldn’t smoke. It’s the worst thing an athlete can do, but it’s the only vice I’ve allowed myself, and only on occasion when I need to remember home.
I close my eyes, drawing the smoke into my lungs, taking myself back there. I can almost taste the country air sitting with my grandfather on the porch as the sun comes up. His first smoke of the day before the farm chores. I miss home when life was simple.
I bask in the memory of it and smoke the whole thing.
My head is better when I put it out.
