Page 75 of The Wildest One
Did I upset you?
No! Why would you even think that?
Because she had been blowing me off since she had left my house that morning. Because her responses were few and far between. Because I couldn’t believe she wasn’t making more of an effort to see me.
Jolie had given me a taste.
I needed more.
I wanted more.
Didn’t she feel the same way?
It feels like I somehow fucked things up again.
Oh my God, please don’t think that. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I promise, it’s not you, Beck. I swear on everything.
Then what the hell was it?
She was dating someone?
Was she uninterested in seeing if this could work between us?
Did she not have any feelings for me?
Was my tongue the only thing she wanted from me?
“Fuck!” I shouted. “What thefuuuck?!”
My body should have been battered from the hours of practice the team had just endured. I should have been breathless from the way I had been skating and shooting. My shoulder should have been screaming every time I lifted my dominant arm, my hips aching from the insistent twisting.
I felt nothing.
But I wasn’t done.
I needed more.
I needed to get this out—this feeling that was consuming me.
And nothing, not a whistle or someone yelling, could stop me from slamming that piece of vulcanized rubber toward the opposite end of the ice.
So, you’re saying it’s on you …
I’ll explain everything tomorrow night. Try to get some sleep.
Sleep? How the hell could that have been possible when my mind was racing between theories?
When I was filled with endless questions.
When my sister was planting regret bombs in my head and they were detonating every second.
“Dude, are you trying to fucking kill me?”
It took a moment before I realized I wasn’t the one who had spoken those words. It was Landon, skating toward me, covering his face even though he was wearing a mask because my stick was pelting pucks right at him.
“Beck! Chill, you motherfucker!”
My arm halted midair, my jaw clenched, my breathing coming out in deep grunts. “I’m sorry. I …”
