Page 9 of Troublemaker
Mason also knewallabout Coach, and my previous crush on Coach, and my current hatredforCoach.
“You know,” Mason said as he stroked a hand through Leslie’s hair, “I once hated someone too. So much so, I lashed out at her for it.”
“Like by coming in my ballet shoes?” Leslie asked pointedly.
He tugged on her hair. “Something like that.”
“Well, as fun as it would be to desecrate something that’s important to Coach, I don’t think I want to come all over his whistle. Although…” I waved the idea away. “No, I’ll find better ways to torture him.”
“Like?” Leslie looked intrigued.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, as I mentally made a list of Ways to Make Blake Samson, He Who Never Loses His Shit, Lose His Shit. “I could show up to practice naked. I could take over the sound system and play Sabrina Carpenter—hehatesSabrina Carpenter. I could write ‘Coach Samson Has A Tiny Penis’ on the rink…can you write on ice? How do you dye ice?”
Mason opened his mouth to answer but I waved him off, on a roll. “I could fill his office with chickens. I could spend a practice teaching all of you the dance to ‘Texas Hold ’Em.’ I glanced at Mason. “Can you dance?”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“I’d like to see that,” Leslie said.
“I’ll give you a show later,” he promised, kissing her, and I tried not to be distracted by my own yearning. Not because I wanted Mason. Far from it. Because I wanted someone in my life to look at me the way he looked at her, like she meant everything. Like if she asked him to set the world on fire, he’d immediately find a match. No one in my life had ever looked at me like I mattered to them, much less like I mattered more than anything or anyone else. When I let myself feel it, it was really fucking lonely…which is why I didn’t.
And wouldn’t right now.
Instead, I pulled out my phone and started typing up my list of ways to break Blake Samson and his tight grasp on his control, because if he was going to make me be at his beck and call for the rest of the season, if he was going to take away my freedom, I was going to make him regret it.
4
BLAKE
“Why the hell do I hear Sabrina Carpenter?” I snapped at Trey as we headed past the locker room and out through the tunnel onto the ice. The pop star’s voice annoyed the crap out of me. Everyone on the team and the staff knew that. Someone was fucking with me.
I was in a bad enough mood as it was; the anticipation of seeing Lucy had made it impossible to sleep the night before, and my coffee maker had died this morning. I was tired, uncaffeinated, unfamiliarly antsy, and what’s more, according to Lucy’s RA—who I had paid off to keep an eye on her—Lucy didn’t get back to her dorm room until midnight, completely disregarding the curfew that I’d imposed. Furthermore, she hadn’t responded to any of my texts demanding she check in and show me proof that she was at home, safe and sound. The first chance I got, I was going to install a GPS tracker on her phone so I always knew where she was.
And the first person to piss me off today was going to get the figurative version of a blade to the neck.
When we reached the rink, I stopped short.
Lucy—in a short flippy pink skirt and a white top that revealed her entire lower back—was on skates, laughing, as Emory, the player Trey had claimed had girl trouble, pulled her along the ice.
Was Lucy the cause of his girl trouble?
Heat filled my stomach, the cue that I was about to lose my temper.
“You’re doing great,” he told her as he pulled her. “You’re a natural.”
“It’s all you,” she said sweetly. “I’ve always been too scared to go on the ice.”
Bull fucking shit.Lucy had grown up on skates—she was as comfortable on the ice as I was. She was playing games with my team, and obviously with me.
Lifting my whistle to my lips, I blew it.
Emory released Lucy, who stumbled, making my heart catch in my throat. There was no way I could get to her in time…that ice would hurt, scrape up her bare legs…
…but she righted herself and spun around, looking at me with innocent eyes.
“Oh, should I not be on the ice,Coach?”she asked sweetly. “Your players were being such gentlemen, teaching me how to skate.”
I couldn’t respond to the minx, not with my tongue as dry as it was.
