Page 55 of Troublemaker
Damn it, he was right. I was distracted by him too easily.
“It depends on how good the explanation is,” I said honestly. “And you still haven’t apologized.”
He sighed, looking properly chastised. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Lucy. I told myself I was bugging your room because I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do something even more reckless than usual, and wanted to make sure you were safe and stayed that way. I can’t explain to you how essential it is to me that you’re safe, but I need it like I need to breathe.” He shook his head. “But that wasn’t the only reason. I did it because I’m obsessed with you, because I can’t stop thinking about you, because all I think aboutisyou, and because the possibility of one of my players getting their sweaty hands all over you makes me want to knock their teeth out with a puck—or three.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Obsessed?” I asked, my voice a little breathy.
He nodded solemnly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Completely obsessed.”
“And you couldn’t just…come to me and tell me this? You had to be all sketchy and secretive and do weird shit like steal my underwear?”
His eyes darkened, and he moved in closer, looming over me as he lowered his voice. “Do you really think that was weird? Because I think, secretly, you like it.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t going to lie.
“I did.” I cleared my throat. “So what does this mean, for us?”
He hesitated. “It means that even if I wanted to stay away, I couldn’t.”
“I mean,” I shrugged, smiling through the vulnerability. “Same.”
“And I don’t want any of these fuckers around you. I swear, Lucy. You wear someone else’s jersey to a game again, and I won’t bench him—I’ll kill him.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I told him. “Besides, I stole your jersey, and I’d rather wear that.”
“Damn, I want to see that,” he growled. His eyes cleared. “But you can only wear it?—”
“In private, I know,” I said. I wasn’t going to risk his job or my future. “No one can find out about this. But if you kill anyone who gets near me, it goes the same for you. I need to know you won’t be with anyone else.” I swallowed, the next part hard to say out loud. But I would, anyway. “And I need to know why you won’t kiss me.”
Blake opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the door to the locker room opened, and Trey stuck his head out, looking annoyed.
“Coach, the team is waiting for you. I think whatever you need to talk about with yourwardand ourassistantcan wait. Can’t it?”
Coach nodded. He looked at me, eyes apologetic. But Trey cleared his throat and Coach turned away, walking past him into the locker room. Before the door shut, Trey looked at me.
“Whatever you’re doing to him, stop.”
“I’m not doing any?—”
But the door banged shut on my denial, leaving me wondering what this meant for Blake and me, and more importantly, where things stood with him and other women.
I should’ve worried more.
We were downby two points when it happened.
It was four minutes into the second period, and I was sandwiched between Blake and Trey behind the players’ bench. I felt almost claustrophobic. Blake was pressed against me on one side, and Trey tried not to touch me on the other. In front of us sat fifteen players, focused on the game but still aware of my every move. I leaned back against the glass that separated the fans from the team, desperate to cool down from the heat radiating off of Blake’s body, and did my best to focus on the game.
Taking Emory out had been a real mistake. The team was lagging, missing passes; our defense was uncoordinated and giving up two-on-ones; our goalie couldn’t get in the zone, making it easy for the opposing team’s center to score back to back with what seemed like half-assed attempts at a save.
Mason looked pissed but stole the puck and skated towards the net on a breakaway when the other team’s defense dove in front of him, attempting to block the shot and dislodging the net in the process. The other team’s defense said something that sethim off, because he shoved them back, ripping off his gloves. The team was a mess. Emory was the glue that held them together, and without him they were a bunch of lone wolves instead of a pack.
The ref blew his whistle. Blake pointed at the ref and called him over. He and Trey argued with him emphatically, Trey’s arms waving every which way. Blake leaned over the bench, sticking his face in the ref’s and using his size and stature to intimidate him.
