Page 25 of Break the Ice

Phil’s ranting with a vein protruding on his temple when I walk in. Then he notices I’ve arrived, and he reverts into stanch silence. His boys all glance my way with the telling looks that show they know something I don’t.

Too bad I don’t give a single flying fuck.

I’m here to play hockey. No more, no less.

Everything else is a breeze—it’s all a joke as far as I’m concerned.

I throw on my gear and get ready to join the others on the ice. In ones and twos they’ve begun trickling out of the locker room to head over to the rink. Kai’s one of the few who stays behind.

“Morasca’s pissed.”

“No shit. Think I care?” I ask, fastening the Velcro straps on my gloves. I rise up off the bench and grab my stick, resting it against my shoulder. “Morasca can kiss my ass.”

Kai’s expression is somehow both deadpan and amused. A skill he’s mastered. He falls into step beside me as we walk the rest of the way out the locker room. “Have you forgotten you’re fucking his wife?”

“Not for a single second. I’m already planning the next time I get to ram my dick up her ass—to make Philly cry and her too—did I tell you about the BJ she gave me in the bathroom?”

“After practice,” Kai says. “At Puck and Pint.”

I nod and check out of the casual talk. My mind slips into game mode, even if this is nothing more than a casual team practice. My competitive nature will allow for no less.

Coach Oates announces we’ll be kicking things off like we always do. Basic drills like slapshots and stick handling.

“I’ve got a real fun setup for you boys,” Oates says, his mustache thicker than a walruses. So much so it disguises the top lip of his smile. “You’ll be splitting up into partners and then practicing on your puck possession. One of you on offense. The other on defense. Then you’ll swap. Got it?”

“This is a waste of time,” Phil pipes up. The vein in his temple continues throbbing away. “The Trojans are winning exhibitions and we’re here throwing sauce.”

“Morasca,” Oates grunts. “Shut the fuck up. For that little bitchfit, I’m pairing you with the most unpleasant person on the team. Just to piss you off even more.”

A couple guys snicker. Kai elbows me in the ribs.

“Golding,” Oates says. “You and Morasca.”

“Gee, thanks, Coach. I find you insufferable as well.” I pair a grin with my sarcastic line, but otherwise don’t protest his decision.

I’ve got no problem being paired up with Morasca.

I’ve already shown him up in the bedroom by fucking his wife better than he ever could. Why not beat him on the ice too?

Again.

“Which one of you is doing offense first?”

I wiggle my brows at a visibly pissed, practically blowing steam Morasca. “Ladies, first.”

Pure loathing blazes in Phil’s glare. His hand wraps around the hilt of his hockey stick so tight, he just might snap the wood in half. He just might spontaneously combust while standing on fucking ice.

All things that make the moment that much funnier.

“Why don’t you show me how it’s done, Golding?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I glide over to the starting line as Coach Oates and the rest of the team watch on. Phil takes on his defensive stance with his stick at the ready for the first chance to steal the puck.

Oates blows the whistle and I rush forward, immediately demonstrating my superior stick handling. Showing off for everybody who’s looking on.

There’s a reason I’m called Alpha. There’s a reason Hawk was willing to pay me almost double what everybody else makes. And there’s a reason women throw themselves at me left and right, including Morasca’s wife.