Page 17 of Triple Pucked
I blush, standing as still as I can, as if Dad can see me through the phone.
But I still lick D’Angelo’s palm in retaliation.
Satisfying.
D’Angelo doesn’t react.
Less satisfying.
“Of course I’m preparing to face the Detroit Red Wings on Tuesday. Why am I out of breath?” D’Angelo’s lips curl into a smile against the back of my neck. My heart skips a beat. “Because I’ve just been exercising in the gym. Yes, coach, I’m more than aware that they’re the toughest team and this is the crucial turning point in the season for making the playoffs. But why…? An emergency crisis meeting tomorrow morning with Heine…?” D’Angelo’s voice spikes with panic. “What the fuck? Heine is meant to be in Germany. Okay, I’ll be there. But I won’t be alone.”
CHAPTER THREE
Freedom Mansion
Robyn
“What crisis?”Anxiety surges through me. I rush after D’Angelo down the dark corridor. I’m still naked but naked panicking is a thing, right? “Why is Dad calling you in for a meeting tomorrow?”
Alarmed thoughts skitter through my mind.
It’s never good when Dad calls his captain in for an emergency meeting.
This month, however, the Bay Rebels have outperformed any previous month in their history. Shay is now officially their highest scorer.
If the Bay Rebels can hold onto their lead throughout February, then they have the best chance the Bay Rebels have had to make the Stanley Cup playoffs.
Why would Dad want to call D’Angelo in to kick his ass?
And why just him?
The answer has to be fucking Heine.
I glance at D’Angelo, who is striding next to me with a clenched jaw. His hand is tight in mine.
D’Angelo dragged me down this elegant corridor after the phone call, when I was still relaxed and fucked out bent over the banister.
I’d been expecting to wait for Shay and Eden to join us.
Instead, D’Angelo whispered, “I had a room added just for you. It’s a surprise, principessa. I won’t let anything ruin this day.”
My bare feet are cold on the wooden floorboards.
How long is it going to take to reach this surprise? Freedom Mansion is so large that I’m going to need a map.
I can just imagine myself getting lost on the way to breakfast and ending up as the skeleton in the wine cellar that becomes the local urban legend.
Because I’d bet my monster dildo collection that thereisa wine cellar.
D’Angelo taps on his left thigh with his free hand rhythmically in patterns of three. His eyes are glassy.
He’s spiraling.
“I don’t know.” He doesn’t look down at me. “I‘ve played the best hockey in my life since Christmas. The team have pulled together, despite only having a temporary coach. Atlas has stepped up. Zach has been a fucking legend with his number of saves. Even Grayson and Lucas have cut back on the frat style shit and come together with the team like brothers. I’m proud of them. Plus, Shay, well, you know what I think about him. He’s outshining the stars of the NHL. There’s a reason that we’re under such intense press scrutiny.”
I puff out a breath. “It’s fucking relentless. I’ve been steering it away from the negative, however, into the positive. This can’t be a PR crisis, unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”
D’Angelo’s lips thin, but he shakes his head. “Of course, there can always be more stories about me. There was the time that I danced in a cage at On the Rocks dressed in only high heels. My ass looked stunning. Then there’s a photograph of me in circulation being fucked by the referee after a game in the locker rooms. Once, I drank too much in a hotel, shocking I know, and I vaguely remember playing the piano in the hotel lobby and singing the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe”.”
