Page 22

Fuck.Stop thinking like that.

I groaned when the puck slipped past Disney, and then the buzzer was going off, signaling the end of the first period.

We were down by one. Mostly because of me.

I raced out of the penalty box toward where the team was gathered.

“I’m coming for you, York!” Miller bellowed over the din of the crowd, and all my good intentions went out the window. I was going to kill that prick.

“Fucking hell,” I snarled, resisting the urge to lunge at him right then.

“Hey, Rookie, is there a reason you keep checking number forty-five? And was that fight really necessary?” Ari spat as we walked back to the locker room. “I’d rather not be one man down the entire fucking game.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling the insane urge to lunge at him at the moment too. “That was fucking Tyler Miller. The biggest motherfucking asshole you will ever meet. We played together in college.” I began pacing the locker room, stomping as I went. I was sure I looked like a lunatic, but I couldn’t get myself to stop.

“As enthralling as this story is—get your fucking head on straight, Rookie,” Walker snarled as Coach Porter threw open the door and stalked into the room.

“This is the fucking Stanley Cup Finals, gentlemen,” he sneered. “How about you start fucking playing like it!” His cheeks were red with anger, and I was pretty sure there was a new tic in his right eye.

Walker and Ari chewed me out for the rest of the break and all the way onto the ice for the next period.

I wish I could say that their “pep talk” worked, but it was like that girl had rewired my brain. I’d gone from a mostly sane, mostly disciplined player, to a completely unhinged one.

It was really bad timing, honestly.

Miller came at me as soon as the buzzer started the period. I had just finished a pass to Camden when I felt the hard crack of his shoulder slamming into mine, driving me into the boards. The impact rattled through my body, the breath knocked clean out of my lungs. I blinked and shook my head, trying to pull myself together. He grinned at me, all teeth, and gave me a fucking thumbs-up as he began to skate away.

Once again…I had lost my mind. I dropped my shoulder and rammed into him with everything I had, sending him crashing into the glass so hard I heard one of the fans scream. There was a satisfying crunch as his body folded in on itself, and then he sank to the ice. I went for him again, but before I could get in another shot, Lancaster was on me, grabbing the back of my jersey and yanking me off him.

“Fucking chill,” Ari hissed, his grip tight as he shoved me back toward the bench before the refs could get involved. “If you end up in the penalty box again…”

“Would you chill if it was fucking Soto?” I snapped, seeing the light come on in Ari’s eyes. Soto was a player with the L.A. Cobras who was also Ari’s nemesis. I wasn’t sure of all the details, but I knew Soto was now sporting full-on dentures after a fight with Ari…and that was from when they were playing on the same team.

“Touché,” Ari muttered, letting me go and pushing me toward the bench.

I couldn’t sit down; instead, I stood, bouncing anxiously as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. My gaze ping-ponged from the play on the ice to Miller toherand then repeated the cycle.

Right before I got back on the ice, I glanced at her one more time, but this time…she was watching me.

And just like that, my mood shifted. A grin pulled at the corners of my mouth, and I couldn’t help myself. I gave her a little wave, playful-ish, like I hadn’t nearly broken her boyfriend against the boards a few seconds ago.

For a brief second she smiled. Just a hint of it crossed her pretty lips, but it was enough to make my dick hard in what was once again the most inopportune moment possible.

Well, actually, a woody at Geraldine’s would have been worse. She would have taken it as a sign.

I shuddered at the thought.

As I reluctantly moved my attention from my dream girl back to the game, I saw that Miller was watching me, an angry snarl on his face because he’d obviously seen the entire interaction.

Good. He needed to get used to disappointment and loss real quick.

Once I was back on the ice, Miller snarled, shoulder-checking me as he skated by. Hard enough to make a point, but not enough to get called for it. He was even more pissed now.

Good.

For the rest of the game, the gloves were off—figuratively at least. I didn’t care what the score was, didn’t care about anything but getting Miller every chance I got. Every shift, every time he had the puck…I was there. Slamming him into the boards.

“How’s Clarissa these days, York?” he said at one point, after he spit what I believe was his tooth out onto the ice.