Page 138 of Sweet Venom
But then again, I decided not to make another trip to the box tonight.
I do check him for the rest of the game, cleanly but violently. I target the piece of shit so much, he starts to avoid me.
Good.
Next time, he’ll learn not to fucking touch me.
We ended up winning after flipping the game’s score in our favor.
The crowd’s cheers of excitement pierce through my skin, yet all I can look for is Violet.
But she’s already being dragged toward the exit by Dahlia.
She pauses for a bit, staring behind her, and when hereyes meet mine, her lips twitch in a small smile, and she lifts a thumb up.
And then she’s gone, mingling with the crowd.
For a long time after she’s out of sight, I’m standing in the middle of the rink, gripping my stick so tight, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
What the fuck?
Why is my heart beating so loudly that I feel like I need medical intervention?
It can’t be because Violet smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up, right?
No.
It must be the high of the game. Ithasto be.
I’m shoved by Preston, and I nearly lose my balance as he headlocks me. “You were fucking phenomenal, big man. But only right after me, because I’m obviously the motherfucking best.”
“Phenomenal game.” Kane fist-bumps me.
“Callahan!” Coach Slater shouts at me.
He’s a veteran of the game, born and bred in Graystone Ridge. He was one of the hotshot players who told me about my innate talent, but he also truly and irrevocably hates my penchant for violence. But, mostly, he despises my wasted potential and my time spent in the penalty box.
“From now on, that’s exactly how you play!” he tells me, giving me a fatherly pat on my shoulder.
I’m soon swept away to the locker room with teammates who are celebrating and being extra noisy.
As soon as I walk out of the shower and start putting on some clothes, I slide up beside Kane, who’s already dressed and is stretching.
This guy finishes showering in a minute, I swear. But thenagain, Kane’s never liked displaying his scars or putting his unfortunate past on full display.
I throw a shirt over my head. “Is Dahlia coming to the club tonight?”
He lifts a brow as he presses on his leg. “Why?”
“For the celebration. She knows the regular place, no?”
“Yes, but what I’m asking about is why you would care whether or not my girlfriend is coming.”
“Nobody gives a fuck about your girlfriend, Davenport.” Preston slides in like a fucking hyena, wrapping both his arms around our necks. “Big man here wants to know whether or not Darcy would bring her sister like she dragged her to the game.”
I flick him on the forehead. “How do you know there was dragging? Maybe she came voluntarily.”
“To see me. Of course she would! No one hears about the legendary Preston Armstrong and misses the chance to see me in full-blown action. I’m God’s gift to peasants.”
