Page 43 of Twisted Play
“Does Tristan know that?”
Cole’s smile turned sharklike. “He will.”
The thought of me between the two of them, their tongues dueling over my head, their hands running over each other’s hard muscles and my soft curves, made my pussy clench. My expression must’ve given away the rush of desire, because Cole took my hand in his.
“Watch out, sparrow, lest you fly too close to the sun.”
17
TRISTAN
I couldn’t focusworth shit today. Every time I lined up a shot, my eyes caught on Eva’s red hair gleaming under the harsh arena lights. She sat in her usual spot on the bench, scribbling notes on her tablet, and my mind flashed back to how she’d felt pressed against me in the library, how she’d moaned when I?—
“Baptiste!” Coach’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts. “Miss the net one more time, and you’ll be skating suicides until you puke.”
Beside me, Cole smirked as he effortlessly sent the puck sailing into the top right corner of the goal. Show off. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from how his muscles flexed, even under his loose practice jersey, remembering his words at the bar last night.Tristan. You. World domination.
What the fuck had he meant? Did he want me as much as I wanted him? Did he?—
“Again!” Coach barked, breaking my concentration.
I lined up for another shot, determined to focus, but Eva shifted in her seat, and suddenly, all I could think about washow she’d felt in my lap, her soft curves pressed against me as she?—
The puck went wide.
“That’s it. Everyone else, keep drilling. Baptiste, give me thirty suicides. Now.”
I swore under my breath and took off. The first five suicides were easy enough—goal line to blue line and back, to center ice and back, to the far blue line and back, all the way down and back—routine conditioning every member of the team could handle with ease.
But by ten, my lungs started to burn. By fifteen, sweat poured down my face despite the freezing air, and my vision had tunneled to pinpoints. Every gasping breath felt like swallowing knives. My breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.
Still, I caught the flash of her red hair each time I sprinted past, and I couldn’t bear for Eva to see me falter. And then, I saw the worry in her green eyes when I stumbled on suicide twenty and how Coach deliberately positioned himself to block my view of her, as if he knew what a distraction she was.
By twenty-five, my legs shook so badly, I could barely stay upright. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.
Cole had stopped running drills to watch, following my increasingly ragged movements with predatory interest. His intense focus made my skin feel too tight.
My lungs burned as I pushed harder, trying to outrun the growing tension.
“Faster!” Coach barked as I started the last one. “You think the NHL gives a shit about your distractions?”
Coach dismissed the team, never taking his eyes off me as I finished. I was still sucking in air when his voice rang out. “Baptiste. Locker room.”
Cole took his time gathering his gear, eyes meeting mine with unspoken concern. Eva hovered by the bench, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Now, Baptiste!”
I followed Coach to the locker room, painfully aware of Cole trailing behind us, making a show of adjusting his pads.
Coach didn’t sit. Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, highlighting the hard lines of his tattooed forearms.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” he snapped, dragging my mind from his attractiveness back to my embarrassing display on the ice.
“Just an off day, Coach.”
“Bullshit. We’ve got NHL scouts coming to every game this season. One off day could cost you everything you’ve worked for.”
Cole’s sharp intake of breath from the doorway drew both our attention.
