Page 3 of Phantom Faceoff
“Parker skip your weekly check-in again?” My words are muffled around the fluffy goodness, but by the glare I get in response, they came across crystal clear.
“I’m half tempted to sick his brother on his ass,” Micky grumbles with a scowl. He’s wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box, and likely just as easy to set off.
“Ah, yes. The pro hockey player you’ve nabbed as your personal coach since high school.”
That at least draws out a thinly veiled grin. “Fuck you. I’ve only met with the guy a handful of times since joining theRavens. He did me a favor and helped me round out my weak spots so I could make captain.”
Co-Captain with Ellis but still a big accomplishment.
“I’m always up for a road trip if we need to pay the guy a visit.”
He doesn’t ask for me to clarify if I mean his boyfriend or the brother, just stuffs his hands in his pockets and lets his shoulders slump.
“I hate football camp.”
We don’t speak again until we’re half-undressed in the locker room, Micky sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Jesus Christ, Coach is going to have your ass.”
I have no clue what he’s going on about until another of our teammates whistles loud and cracks a shirt across my back.
“What tree did you fall out of to get a whopper like that?”
I look down and spot the big, purple bruise climbing up my side that gets me a room full of side eyes.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Hardly hurts.”
Micky is right. If I told Coach that I took a midnight four-wheeling trip with some buddies from high school because I was restless and couldn’t sleep, he’d probably relegate me to laundry duty for the entirety of the season.
Which is exactly why I say, “Julian and I tumbled off the bed becausesomeone,” I motion to Micky, “couldn’t respect the sock on the door for five minutes.”
He narrows his eyes because if there’s one person in the world who doesn’t buy my bullshit, it’s Micky Donovan.
Thank god he needs me on the team, or he’d rat me out in a heartbeat.
“You could hook up in Julian’s dorm.”
Like hell.
My roommate might be a pain in the ass, but Julian’s? The man hates my guts and would like nothing more than to use me as a punching bag for his frustrations.
“Might get a peepshow next time.”
Micky rolls his eyes and, thankfully, drops the subject.
That doesn’t stop him from lighting my ass on fire during practice, though.
Chapter Two
Malachi
One would think my “big reputation”—asTaylor Swift would call it—would hold some weight with the local fuckboys.
Judging by Julian’s disheveled appearance for the third time this week, it sure as hell the fuck does not.
“Can you stop glaring a hole in my head? I’m embarrassed enough.”
“No,” I bark because the anxiety in my gut is swirling into something dark and angry. “You aren’t. Because if you were, you’d break it off with Hale and get your head out of his ass.”
