Page 56 of Troublemaker
It must have worked, because the ref blew his whistle again, made the call, and the players lined up while Mason took his penalty shot.
Coach and Trey had their heads together as they made their way back to me, I strained to hear what they were saying.
“You know, my sister’s here tonight.”
“That’s nice.”
“No, she’s here to see you.”
“Why?”
“You invited her.”
You could’ve heard my heart thud to the floor. Professor Putrovksi was here. Not only was she here, she was here for Blake. Blake, who was mine. Blake, who’d told me if another man got near me, he’d kill him, but hadn’t had the chance to acknowledge it worked the same for him and other women. Hadn’t had the chance, or had he avoided telling me itwasn’tthe same for him and other women? Did he know that she was my professor? Did he know about the potential intercollegiate program I was up for? Was there any chance I could have him and my dream?
Somehow everyone else missed my heart thud, too focused on Mason as he shot the puck straight past the other team’s goalie into the net. It was an easy shot, changing our score from 0-2 to 1-2.
As the horn blared, the crowd roared, and Mason skated past the bench, high fiving his teammates as he tapped the goalie’s pads. Coach made it back to where I waited.
The second he arrived I hissed in his ear, “You invited Trey’s sister to the game?”
He rubbed his head. “Apparently.”
“Who the fuck is she to you?”
He rubbed his head. “We need to talk about this later, Lucy.”
“You know she’s my professor, right?”
He blinked, shocked.
“Ah, fuck.”
“Yeah,” I hissed as Trey made his way back to us. “Fuck.”
Blake raised his voice as Trey sat down. “Lucy, I need you to focus, and I need to focus. In order for us to do that, I need you to not get into trouble so I don’t get distracted. Got it?”
What I got was that he was being a bossy asshole in public to make it seem like nothing was happening between us. I liked when he was a bossy asshole—but only in private. This made my ears steam.
“Will you let Emory play?”
He scowled. “No.”
“Do you want me to do a strip tease on the ice during intermission?” I threatened.
He knew I would.
“Goddamnit.” He turned to the box behind him, raising his voice. “Van der Linde, you’re back in.”
His replacement got off the ice. Looking grateful, Emory pulled on his helmet, jumped the barrier, and skated out onto the rink, tagging the backup winger out. He looked up in the stands for a moment at someone before shaking his head and taking his position on the ice.
Play resumed, and I sat between two grown men, aware that both their eyes were on me—for different reasons.
“I’m still pissed at you,” I murmured to Blake.
A small, regretful smile played on his lips.
“I know.”
