Page 30 of Burner Account

“Like, if someone cross-checks a guy and gets away with it, what’s to stop him from doing it again? Or if he gets away with a dirty check, what’s to stop him from boarding someone next time?”

“Shit. So it’s like… self-policing?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“But… isn’t that what the refs are supposed to do? Police the game?”

I barked a laugh. “Oh. Yeah. And they dosucha hot job of that.”

“Hmm, yeah. Good point.”

“Right?”

“Still, I’m surprised fighting is… well, legal-ish. Because they seem to just get out of your way and let you go at it.”

I nodded. “Yeah. They’ll let us go until someone goes down or a jersey comes off. Or if it starts getting really out of control.”

“But it’s still a penalty. So why do they let you guys do it at all instead of stopping it immediately? Just… entertainment value?”

“Not necessarily. I’ve heard some people speculate that keeping it semi-legal keeps it from getting out of control.”

Isaiah twisted toward me, resting his elbow on the back of the couch. “How so?”

“Like, if they completely ban it—eject and suspend us for any fighting—then when we do fight, there’s nothing holding us back.” I paused. “So, take last night. Smeds and I could’ve absolutely whaled on each other if we wanted to. Grabbed a stick and beat the shit out of each other. Shoved someone’s face into the ice. That kind of thing. But we know where the lines are, and where the difference is between a five-minute major and a way more severe punishment.”

“And you can remember those lines even when you’re that fired up?”

I chuckled. “Hey, I may be pissed off, but I don’tcompletelylose my head.”

“No, you’re just a hothead.” He grinned, and he somehow managed to sound both flirty and shy as he added, “And you’re hot when you fight, so…”

I grinned. “Is that right?”

He shrugged, but the grin held, as did the subtle shyness, as if he were sticking his neck out more than he usually would and he still hadn’t decided if he liked it.

Oh my God. He was so damn cute.

I swept my tongue across my lips, catching the edge of my stitches, and my heart sank. “Goddammit.”

Isaiah tilted his head. “What?”

“I, um…” I laughed quietly as some warmth rose in my cheeks. “Look, I wasn’t joking the other night when I said I wanted to kiss you. And I… still do.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. A lot. But…” I sighed and gestured at my lip.

Isaiah watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, that unreadable expression shifted to one I couldn’t misinterpret if I wanted to. Those smoldering eyes, that asymmetrical grin, not to mention the way he slid closer to me as the arm draped across the back of the couch came down around my shoulders—oh, fuck. No shyness this time, either.

“Your mouth is out of commission,” he said in a low, sultry voice. “Butmineisn’t.” He winced subtly, as if that came out cornier than he thought it would.

Maybe it was corny, but I wasn’t going to judge. Not when I was utterly speechless and quickly getting hard.

I inched closer to him and slid a hand up his chest, hoping that passed for an invitation, since I couldn’t remember how to speak.

He leaned in, and for a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me despite my stitched lip.

But instead, he dipped his head, and…

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