Page 93 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“O’Riley,” I firmly state as I move to stand in front of him.

His eyes lock on mine, and despite how angry he really is, those honeycombs soften the longer he stares into my blue ones.

“He apologized after proving I’m well educated, experienced, and am actually paying attention like my internship requires me to do. Now, they have to finish their game, and I have a strong feeling you guys were going to do a fake game at the other rink, yes?”

Maddox lets out an exaggerated exhale before he mumbles, “Yes. Coach Cyrus wanted us to check if this rink was open yet while we came to retrieve Ace.”

“Well, it’s still taken, so back to the other rink you go,” I practically shoo him to start moving.

He gives me a look, one that tells me he’s not satisfied in the slightest.

“I’ll be done in fifteen to twenty minutes. Come pick me up when you guys are finished a round.”

“Fine,” he agrees but doesn’t move until I skate next to him.

“O’Riley.” He’s stalling, and I don’t like how everyone is obviously watching us.

We can’t kiss here.

Totally not professional.

He knows it, yet he’s tempted to. I can see it in the way he looks down at me.

“Fifteen to twenty minutes,” he repeats.

“Fifteen to twenty minutes,” I assure him and dare to smirk. “Twenty-five if you don’t get moving.”

“Hmph.” He decides the added time isn’t worth claiming, so his glove ruffles my hair one second, and he’s off the ice the next.

“How the puck is he so fast,” I complain before I call out. “O’Riley! You better pay for my hair styling appointment if you think you can get away with messing up my hair!”

The boys laugh, a few patting O’Riley on the shoulder and encouraging his ‘manly’ display of protecting what’s “his.”

Men. Unbelievable.

Ace’s low chuckle surprises me as I glance over to see him reach out and tug at my hair tie so my red locks fall in waves.

“I’m borrowing this, Nurse Johnson,” Ace proudly states.

“Why in heaven’s name would you need a hair tie?” I groan. I’ve had enough of these men.

“I need it,” Ace stresses, even though his hair is far too short to put in a ponytail. He isn’t wearing his helmet anymore, so I can only assume he gave it to one of the guys to bring back for the fake game.

“For?” I just have to know.

“I need something to tie up Jayce’s bag of pride and throw it in the dumpster where it belongs.”

“Fuck off, Harvey!” Jayce shouts. He’s standing next to Coach Johnson, who was talking to him before Jayce interrupted.

Proving he’s not listening and focused on us.

Or maybe specifically on me.

With that heated, venomous gaze.

Yup. He hates my pucking guts right now.

“Winchester, my office,” Coach Johnson orders.

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