Page 47 of Relationship Goals

He drops his gaze and sinks into the ice.

That’s what I fucking thought.

I shake my head at myself in disgust at the sheer annoyance building in me. I don’t fucking own Abigail Hunt. I should just tell her I asked her out because I was blackmailed into it.

Problem is, I do like her. I like her a lot, and the thought of Marino taking her out makes me want to punch him in his smooth-talking mouth.

That wouldn’t be good for the team, and I can’t afford to get suspended. Again.

That’s the whole reason I’ve been on thin ice with the owners, despite how good I am on the field. How many times have other teamstraded me because I started shit with my teammates? How many times have I been called an asshole because I can’t be bothered to do the touchy-feely team building some of the other clubs invest in? How many fights have I been in?

I breathe out.

I also actually like Marino, despite all our differences.

So I text Abigail again.

Luke:I am glad you’re coming. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to invite you myself.

Luke:I’ll be looking for you in the stands.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the last message turning blue as it delivers.

“What?” Gold asked.

“I sound like an asshole.”

“Youarean asshole,” Marino tells me cheerfully.

“What did you say?” Gold squints at me from his tub.

“I told her I would look for her in the stands.”

“You actually like this girl,” Gold says slowly, surprise written all over his face.

Why thefuckis he surprised?

“I’m allowed to like people.”

“No, you are not,” Marino says in his thick accent. “You are the Wolf. A predator. You stalk the fields and terrorize our opponents with your ugly face. You do not like people.”

I throw a handful of ice at him, and it hits his chest before sinking into the tub.

“See?” Marino says, looking outraged. “Terrorize. That is what Luke Wolfe does.” He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel sorry for the poor girl. Once she sees the wolf’s teeth, that will be it.”

“Fuck off,” I growl.

It just makes Marino and Gold laugh harder.

I want to be more than the LA Wolf.

I have a feeling that might be partly due to a certain woman in my life.

Before I can think better of it, I’m on the team’s fucking internal communication app, asking for a bunch of things I’ve never asked for before, and the secretaries are only too happy to arrange the delivery to Michelle’s box seats tomorrow night and to Abigail’s house tomorrow morning.

I can befuckingnice. I can hide my teeth.

I think of my mother, hooked up to an IV full of radioactive drugs, thinner and paler every time I video chat with her. My sister’s pinched expression in the background as she tries to tell me everything is all right.