Page 69 of Triple Pucked

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I am already collared by him in my soul.

Blythe is a bloody amateur.

I believe in D’Angelo, and he has faith inme.

That’s enough.

I glance over my shoulder at D’Angelo.

He has the puck again.

Our gazes meet.

He gives me a piercing look. I tilt up my chin, grinning back.

He nods, understanding me without words.

This is what we’re good at. We’re as in tune on the ice as we are in bed.

Thirty seconds…

My hands are sweaty, slipping on my stick. I clutch it, white knuckled.

I skate faster, seeing space ahead to get myself in position to take the winning shot.

Twenty seconds…

Adrenaline rushes through me, as I don’t drop my speed, but instead, fake going wide.

I take a quick glance at the goal.

Ten seconds…

D’Angelo doesn’t hesitate. He raises his stick and hits the puck to me.

All of a sudden, I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye, as something is thrown from the stands onto the rink in front of me.

My eyes widen.

It’s a giant ice blue butt plug.

I try to swerve around it, but it’s too late.

“Shit.” I miss the pass, catching my skate on the butt plug.

I lose control for a heartstopping moment, skidding across the ice and toward the boards at high speed.

Desperately, I tuck in my arms and chin to protect myself.

Please, don’t let me hit my head.

I grunt in agony, as my hip and shoulder slam into the boards.

Dizzy with pain, I bend over, panting hard.

“Shay,” I hear D’Angelo’s panicked cry.

Then the siren sounds, and through the haze of pain, my stomach sinks.

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