Page 68 of Dirty Pucking Player

Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. “That’s not what I meant.”

At least, not in the way she thinks.

It would be impossible to deny what’s happening between us, but it can’t go beyond what we have. We started something that has an end date, one that looms over us like a dark cloud. And reminding her of that has apparently ruined my chances of having her in my arms tonight.

She holds her hand out to stop me from continuing to try to explain myself. “I’m going home, Bash. I’m exhausted. We need to get prepared for the Wolverines. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

That’s it?

It isn’t like her not to push.

I wish she would.

Having Greer tear into me and argue would be preferred to this cold shoulder she’s giving me.

She downs the rest of her drink and pushes away from the bar before I can say anything to stop her. Though the way she’s acting, I doubt anything I could say would have prevented her from walked away.

I won’t be doing all those things I fantasized about tonight, unless it’s in my dreams with my own hand wrapped around my dick.

Fucking hell.

Lebedev watches her cross the bar and leave, then his eyes sweep back to meet mine. He sneers at me, his shoulders tense and arms crossed over his chest. The asshole thinks he knows something, but we’ve been careful.

At least, I think we have.

Maybe I walked a little too close to the line tonight. Maybe the risk of being caught only made me want to do it more. But even if that weren’t the case, I couldn’t have stayed away.

Greer looked so fucking beautiful and happy. I didn’t just want to be next to her; I needed to be touching her, smelling her, feeling her pressed against me.

It was selfish and stupid.

Two things I’m very familiar with.

But this place is loud and out of control. Leaning in to talk to someone isn’t suspicious. Neither is a player having a conversation with his coach. Anyone who saw us together wouldn’t have seen anything unusual to throw up red flags. And even if they did, it’s none of their fucking business, anyway. It doesn’t affect them. It doesn’t affect the team. Greer and I are professionals and will continue to be no matter what happens between us.

We’re both adult enough to separate our personal feelings from what needs to happen to succeed on the ice. So Lebedev can leer at us all he wants. He doesn’t know anything that can hurt us.

Hayes sidles up next to me and smacks me on the shoulder. “How you doing?” He flashes me a grin. “Dimitri giving you shit again?”

I nod and down the last of my beer. “What do you think?”

He chuckles and glances toward Lebedev. “I think he’s a little bitch who needs to understand this is a game, and sometimes, someone plays it better than you.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” I set my empty glass on the bar and nod to the bartender for another. “He needs to get over his personal issues with me to ensure it doesn’t affect the game.”

This team just pulled off the impossible, and Lebedev is still being a douche because he resents my coming on board. He can’t just enjoy the feeling of going to the playoffs without his ego getting in the way.

As long as it doesn’t get in the way of my playing or my thing with Greer, I don’t give a fuck.

But he already cock-blocked me tonight.

Fucking douche.

He better not try anything else though; otherwise, the “old” Bash might need to make an appearance and have a chat with him.

18

BASH

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