Page 55 of Zero Pucks Given (Las Vegas Angels 1)

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Beau

If that asshole body checked me one more time, I was going to skin him alive.

The sad thing was—part of me wanted Trey to poke the bear just one more time. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I was ready for it to stop.

The idea of a scrimmage was to test out what the coaches—well, coached us on that day. Shit we were doing wrong or needed to improve on. Or new plays they wanted us to make.

Trey’s idea of a scrimmage was to do his best to hassle and trigger me until I blew.

Both of us skated off for the puck. He was so close behind me, I could hear him breathe. “G looked real pretty this morning, didn’t you think?” he taunted over my shoulder, stealing my concentration. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fuck off, man,” I said, dragging my stick along the ice, carrying the puck with me.

He stayed on my ass, trying to get around me on the other side. “Bet it’s not long before I talk her into moving in with me, instead. Then I’ll have her and your job as captain.”

I shot at the net, but my concentration was complete shit. I missed by a damn mile.

Trey’s laughter shot out. “Captain, you’re getting worse instead of better.”

Stopping short, I circled back toward him, ready to take a swing. When I got to him, I dug in my blades and showered him with snow. “You leave Gigi the fuck alone. Do you hear me? She’s mine,” I spat out so he’d get the message.

“She’s got her own mind, Cap. If she prefers a more—capable type of man, you can’t honestly blame her, can you?”

I wanted to wipe that smug, arrogant look off his face. “Leave her the fuck alone,” I said, annunciating my words in an exaggerated fashion. This bastard needed to get the message. Now.

“It’s not really up to you, is it?”

“Actually? It is. She’s mine. Lay off.”

Luis skated up to us. “What are you idiots fighting about now? The coach wants you both back in the dressing room. Now.” Then he pushed Trey’s shoulder hard until he finally came unstuck and moved away mostly against his own will.

I did not know how I was going to deal with that jerk for the rest of the season. My only hope would be that he’d get traded next year.

That still left this whole entire year that we’d have to play together, though.

Jesus, it was going to be a long year.

“Moreau,” I heard Gigi call my name and it felt like a cool balm to my burnt insides. My eyes spotted her across the ice, leaning on the edge of the boards. I took off in her direction.

“What’s up, Martin?” I asked, removing my helmet.

“What’s up? What the heck was that about? It looked like you were going to remove his head,” she said, her face all screwed up and cute as hell. I’d never seen her before a practice. Her hair was still dry—not yet sweaty and stuck to her face.

Her complexion was still her normal, pre-exercise self. Seeing her fresh like this in her hockey gear made me smile. “Very perceptive, Martin,” I said, my attention now on her lips. I hadn’t kissed her in a while. Now seemed like a good time.

She poked me with the end of her stick. “What were you fighting about?”

Those high cheekbones of hers began to turn a lovely shade of pink. Whenever she got fired up about something, her cheeks changed color. “Kiss me,” I whispered as I leaned into her, smelling her hair. I really fucking loved that scent.

“Beau,” she said, nearly in a whisper.

I leaned in further, grazing her cheek with mine. “Kiss me, Geneviève.”

“Beau, I—” was all I let her get out before I captured her lips with mine. Even though she was a little stunned, she still let me in and allowed me to take over the kiss. She tasted like strawberries. Probably from the smoothie she’d made this morning.

I’d finished mine on the way to the rink. It was delicious. But not nearly as tasty as this woman I was currently kissing. Christ but she was sweet. Everything about her was. If it wasn’t for her age…

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