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THIRTY-SIX
JACKSON
“Your hair is a wreck, asshole.”
Ethan walks past me on the player’s bench, and my words spill out in a bitter rush. My emotions are all over the place. I’m finding it difficult to control the irritation in my chest, and my heart and mind are racing.
“Don’t like it?” He accepts an iPad from the assistant coach with a nod.
The underlying implication doesn’t escape my notice.
“I fucking hate it.” Do I, though? Or is it the dark storm brewing in my head that’s talking? Can’t say Ienjoyhim screwing my girlfriend—without me.
Maybe no one else would notice, given his inability to use hair product, but he’s out here with sex-hair. Not only that, but his face is flushed, and he’s late. He’s never late.
And he’s happy—another rare occurrence on game day.
He leans against the boards with his back to the ice and faces me, his attention on the iPad. “That’s too bad. Your girlfriend loves it.”
“Does she? Does she also love the”—I glance at my wrist—“three minutes you takestylingit?” My irritation morphs into a self-satisfied smile.
He shakes his head while reviewing the rosters, his smug smirk firmly in place. “Unlike you, I don’t need an hour in front of the mirror to get the job done. Mystyleis quite successful. Ask your girlfriend.” He grins so wide, his face might split.
My heart batters my ribcage, and I rub at the ache in my sternum. A wave of nausea passes through me then leaves as quickly as it came, taking the chest pain with it.
“You two have similar hair,” Grant says, oblivious to our situationship or my mini panic attack.
Ethan and I turn on him in unison. “Shut the fuck up.”
Heads swivel our way, but the arena is loud, with music blaring through the speakers and the crowd building in the stands. It’s doubtful anyone can hear other than those close. Even if they do, we’re only hazing one another, something the team has become accustomed to.
Grant gestures between us. “Coach’s hair is darker and longer, but you both have that messy look.”
I may have been making out with Aurora in the parking lot, partly to annoy Ethan and partly because I didn’t want her to go. Doesn’t matter—my hair is always perfect.
Ethan and I exchange a glance of shared amusement, breaking the tension.
I’m not even sure why I’m irritated. It’s not as if I didn’t plaster myself all over Aurora before she went into his office, knowing full well what he wanted.
With a shit-eating grin, Ethan grumbles, “Thicker. My hair is much thicker.”
My eyes want to roll right out of my head. “I’m not worried. You’ll go bald soon. What are you, fifty?”
“Again, your girlfriend doesn’t mind.”
“Again, you can fuck off.”
Grant bumps his shoulder into mine. “Hey, who’s that guy with Aurora?” He inclines his chin toward the family section behind us.
I twist around, following his gaze.
My brain is slow to catch up, almost as if I can feel it rotating in my skull, and my heart rate spikes at the odd sensation. It’s reminiscent of a bad high.
I breathe through it, telling myself I’m reacting to Aurora leaving and seeing her is a reminder. That’s all.
In my dazed state, I spot her sitting next to Ricky, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. His head tilts toward hers, soaking in their conversation. A flash of humor lights up his face, and he playfully tugs at her ponytail.
If you’re into rugged masculinity, Ricky’s a decent-looking guy, with jacked-up muscles and neck tattoos. He gives off the vibe of a Viking or the president of an MC.