Page 4 of Two Guys One Puck
I’m not making any fucking promises. Not after the way he’s been playing this year. Like being the best isn’t enough, he needs to be a dick, too.
By the time I’m showered and changed, my ribs are an ugly purple color, but I don’t go see the trainer. I’m going to give them a few days so I don’t get put on the injured list for theFrozen Four.I’m calmer as I walk out of the locker room. I wish I could go home and sleep in my own bed instead of a hotel, but at least the flight home is short.
“Seaborn.” Ktytor’s voice hits me as soon as I step outside.
I glance around, finding a figure standing off to one side of the exit. “I have to get on the bus. I can’t fight you.”
“Meet me in the parking lot of your hotel in half an hour.”
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”My anger had cooled some, but I still want a piece of him if offered. I guess that’s partly my upbringing. We solved problems with our fists growing up. It was the culture of the blue collar latchkey neighborhood I grew up in. There was no supervision.
“You said you weren’t done with me. I thought I’d give you a chance to get the rest of your anger out, baby doll.” His smug fucking voice reignites all the rage.
“I’ll see you there.”
TWO
KTYTOR
Itake a long drag of my cigarette, not sure Seaborn will actually come out. But I’ll make his life hell if he doesn’t. We’ll see them at the playoffs, and those ribs won’t be healed by then. I’ll tell every forward in the fucking league about the injury. They’ll all exploit it. I won’t have to lift a fucking finger.
He was cooler outside the arena, but I’m not. Winning the game didn’t diminish my anger one bit. I’ve never met a defender I wanted to fuck with more than Seaborn. His play style is smothering, and he’s an asshole on top of it.
We’d never get this opportunity on the ice, and I’ve spent the whole season dealing with his bullshit.
It’s time to have it out.
“You know anyone can see you standing there smoking.”
“And?” My gaze flicks over to the hotel exit where he’s standing, appraising.
“This isn’t your hotel. You don’t think anyone who sees you will question why the fuck you’re here?”
“Are you worried someone will think we are fucking, baby doll?” I drop my cigarette and toe it out with my standard military issue boot. Every guy my age owns a pair. Probably hand me downs, but the only shit that will last.
“No. But someone’s going to have questions about why you’re fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Very astute. Glad to hear you aren’t merely a meathead who got into university to play sports.”
“Fuck you,” Seaborn says through his teeth. His favorite insult. “People will think we are friendly.”
“Do you care what they think, sweetheart?”
“No.” The way he says it tells me he does. “I don’t need rumors saying we’re fucking or some shit.”
“Why are you thinking about fucking me?” I ask, giving him a wink.
“I never said—” He grunts in frustration, and I grin. I want him worked up. “Are we doing this or not?”
“What are you waiting for, beautiful? An invitation?”
“In the light with the fucking cameras?”
I glance up, forgetting the US is basically a police state, then gesture for him to walk around the side of the building. I half expect him to sucker punch me, but he’s too honorable, and waits for me to get set. I size him up, then pull off my shirt and toss it on a bush.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His hands curl into fists, and I feed off his anger. It’s been too long since I boxed; that kind of childhood play is frowned upon here.
“I like that shirt. I don’t want your blood to ruin it. You understand, yes?”
