Page 13 of Double Pucked

Clenching my jaw, I yank my seat belt as hard as I can and put it on. “Put yours on too,” I bark at my friend.

With his charming smile that wins over fans, women, and reporters, Chase pats Trina’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He has the manners of a Rottweiler. But I can translate Ryker speak. What he means to say is, ‘I’m secretly a softie and I don’t want a thing to happen to you especially while you’re out with us, so would you please put your seat belt on?’”

With an amused shake of her head, Trina complies. “Only because Captain Bossy asked nicely,” she says to Chase, flashing him a cute grin.

I look away.

“We have nicknames already? Nice. Also, accurate.” Chase rubs his palms together, then points to me. “What’s his? Please tell me it’s Big Bad Wolf.”

She lifts her chin a little defiantly as she stares me down, just like I did to her a few minutes ago. “It’s Mister Grumpy, but I think Big Bad Wolf works too.”

Her boldness is fuck hot too. This is a problem. “Yes, yes it does,” I say, staying stone-faced. I tip my chin at Chase. “You too, golden boy. Put it on.”

With a sigh, Chase takes off his suit jacket and tugs on the seat belt. “Sure thing…Big Bad Wolf.”

Then I tap on the glass and tell the driver to take us to Sticks and Stones, a bar with pool, Ping-Pong and other games. It’s the place Jasper picked—which reminds me…As the car cruises through the arena’s players’ lot, I turn to Trina. “You still want to go there? Some dude named Jasper picked it.”

She grins a little wickedly. That’s annoying. She’s too damn pretty when she smiles like that, kind of devilishly. “I actually picked it. Jasper asked me for suggestions. And it was my idea since I want to learn how to play both. They sound like fun, and I’ve been dying to give them a try,” she says. “His only idea was to go to a strip club with you two.”

I sneer. “Like I said,little shit.”

Chase snorts. “That’d have been a no.”

“Also, that’s weak,” I add. “Does this Jasper have zero creativity?”

She squares her shoulders. “Considering he banged our neighbor in our bed while I was working, I’d have to say yes, he lacks any and all creativity. I mean, try a little harder, right? Maybe get a room, or get creative and go to, I dunno, Target and pull her into a dressing room or something. Right?” she says, so clearly trying to stay strong and tough, but I can tell it still hurts. Instantly, I hate him even more than I did already. More than I hate the shit-tastic Bryce Tucker, AKA Pompous Fuckface.

“You want us to fuck him up?” I crack my knuckles, ready and willing.

That earns me my first real laugh from her.

“Because we will,” Chase says, jumping in. Gone is the charm from his voice. He’s all business now, ready to send a message if he has to. “Just say the word.”

Trina blinks, then lets out a surprised breath. “Tempting, but I’ll pass. Appreciate the thought though,” she says as the car weaves into traffic.

“The offer stands. Any time,” I add, then scratch my jaw. “But how’d you get his tickets for the game?”

Trina smiles like an Internet meme for the wordsneaky.“He’s obsessed with hockey. You’re both his favorite players. So I swiped the VIP tix he won after I caught him cheating. I sent him out of the house, making him think I was forgiving him and just needed some time to cry alone before he came back. Instead, I packed up all my stuff and my dog so I could crash with my bestie, and on the way out I grabbed the bag of jerseys and pucks I bought—as a surprise to him—to have signed by you two. I wasn’t going to let him give any bit of gear to his new woman. And as I was about to take off, I spotted the tickets on his nightstand,” she says with a wicked glint in those green eyes. “I took them too. The pièce de résistance, as they say.”

Damn. I don’t want to like her, but…that’s just ballsy. “How’d you learn he was the biggest fuckhead in the universe?”

She straightens her shoulders, like she needs to be tough. “My dog ate the other woman’s underwear.”

Chase’s jaw drops, then he points. “Oh, shit. I saw the vet’s video. You’re the woman with the dog underwear.”

And I’m cracking up. So is Trina. We’re laughing like loons in the limo.

“Pretty sure it wasn’tdog underwear, Weston,” I correct in between breaths.

With a wince, Chase realizes his error, but then he grins. “Your dog probably doesn’t wear underwear. But if he does, that’s okay. No judgment.” He holds up his hands and looks Trina’s way. “Freedom of expression and all.”

“My dog doesnotwear underwear. He only has an appetite for it,” she says primly.

“But does he wearotherclothes?” Chase asks.

As Trina tells him about some tartan jacket the dog has for foggy mornings, then whips out her phone to presumably show him the pics, I’m thinking about how she stole Jasper’s memorabilia and his tickets, then came to the game and slapped up a sign. And she did it all classy and shit. She didn’t reveal who he was. Just his crime. Brilliant revenge. She’s smart, and there’s nothing hotter than a woman’s brain.

I stroke my chin. Then I meet her gaze, and when there’s a break in the discussion of dog sartorial choices, I say, “What you did tonight at the game with the signs…”

---