Page 71 of Dirty Pucking Player

If anyone should take the blame here, it’s me. I’m the one who pursued her, who pressured her into giving in and turning against her morals and what she thought was right. I’m the one who already has the shitty reputation. This is expected from someone like me. “Bob, you have to understand—”

He holds up his hand to stop me. “I’m just so thrilled to see you two finally getting along.”

What?

I jerk my head to the side to look at Greer, and her wide, confused eyes meet mine. We both turn back to Bob.

Greer clears her throat. “What do you mean?”

Bob claps his hands together. “I’ve noticed there hasn’t been any of that tension between you two when he’s out on the ice since he came back from his suspension. You finally trust him. And it shows. He’s playing better, and you don’t look like you’re about ready to have a heart attack every time he jumps off the bench.”

Chuckling, I release a shaky breath at the way we just averted a death sentence. “You’re right, Bob, we have been getting along amazingly the last few weeks.”

I catch Greer’s scowl out of the corner of my eye, but Bob seems to have missed the innuendo in my comment.

He just grins at us. “I saw you two at the party last night, chatting. It looked very carefree and effortless. Not at all how you two were together when Bash first arrived. It’s been a one-eighty.”

No shit.

There was nothing but anger and pent-up hostility. Now, there’s just this raging sexual tension that always seems to build between us when we’re together that will snap if we don’t release it again soon.

We could have worked it out last night if she had come home with me, but her refusal only led to a sleepless night and even more desire for her.

Greer’s hand tightens on the arm of her chair until her knuckles whiten. “Yes, Bob, things have been going well. Bash and I have come to an…understanding.”

Bob claps and rises to his feet. “I’m so happy to hear that. It seems we’re in good shape heading into the playoffs. Our star player is finally getting along with the coach and hasn’t had any major penalties in the last few games.” He freezes and points at my chest. “That doesn’t mean you’re due for one, though.”

I chuckle and hold up my hands, flashing my trademark grin at him. “I can’t make any promises, Bob. You know how I play.”

Hard.

Without reservation.

Holding nothing back.

Greer once called it dirty. And there are undoubtedly others who have the same assessment. But if anyone bothers to look past the hits and penalty minutes, they would see the beauty of my game and that I never act without a purpose.

He grins at me. “I don’t want you to change that, Bash. It’s why I brought you onto the Scorpions. But we can’t afford any stupid penalties right now, either.”

“I agree.”

Greer nods. “I certainly agree, too. Nothing stupid.”

It’s obviously directed at me, and she’s not just talking about potential penalties.

* * *

GREER

Bash needs to stop messing around.

The last thing we need is anyone, especially Bob, discovering our relationship. Or whatever the hell this is. And his little joke might have been only for me but it isn’t impossible for someone else to pick up on it.

I glance at the man who is equally frustrating as he is irresistible.

What the hell is this, anyway?

The never-ending question.

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