Page 8 of Flagrant Foul (Totally Pucked #3)

Teddy “T-Dog” O’Reilly

“Has anyone seen Sev?” I ask, taking care to stop my voice from lilting up. As I focus on that, the muscle near the corner of my mouth goes into a spasm and starts ticking from my attempt to hide “the tiny bit of tension” I now know lurks there.

We’re in the lounge at the airport and Sev’s late. It’s exactly like him. He always does this. He’s not late exactly, but close enough that my ass starts to sweat right before boarding every fucking time we fly anywhere. I swear it’s like a Pavlovian response at this point.

During the off-season, I went to Hawaii on my own, not for hockey, and my ass still sweated at boarding even though Sev wasn’t flying with me.

No matter how many times I tell myself to chill, I can’t. What if this is the time he plays it too close to the wire and manages to take it from so-close-to-late-the-vein-on-Coach’s-forehead-pops-out to officially late. Missed the flight late. Off the scorecard and suspended late.

An unpleasant hot thing takes hold in my chest, making my thoughts fizz and leaving me frantically searching the throng of passengers for a glimpse of him.

I’m about to call him and give him hell when the expression of a female staff member nearby alerts me to his presence.

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops slightly.

I follow her gaze and, unsurprisingly, there Sev is.

He has a bag over his shoulder and not a care in the world as he takes long, unhurried strides toward us.

His sweats are low-slung, clinging to his hips and offering a tiny glimpse of his side when he hitches his bag up.

I know that if I put my hands under his shirt, his skin will be hot to the touch.

Abnormally hot. He’s one of those people who runs hotter than others.

So hot that when you touch him, your insides ignite.

I don’t know how I know that. I’ve never had my hands under his shirt. But I know it all the same.

“How many times have I told you that you need carry-on luggage with wheels?” I chide as soon as he’s in earshot. “That big-ass bag slows you down. You can never find your wallet or proof of ID in it. You’re going to miss your flight one of these days, and that bag will be the reason. ”

He tilts his head condescendingly in my direction. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

He looks like a wreck and annoyingly attractive at the same time.

He has bags under his eyes and his hair is disheveled.

It’s shoulder-length and tied back in a loose bun at his nape.

In my humble opinion, it’s a hairstyle that men should have to apply for a license to wear.

A license that anyone anywhere near as hot as Sev should be denied outright in the interest of public health and safety.

At least, that’s the look he’s going for. Today, more hair has escaped the confines of his hair tie than succumbed to it, and that’s infuriating too.

I want to attack him. To pull his hair tie out and throw it on the floor. To tear at his shirt and put my hands all over him.

I ache to do it.

I physically ache.

Instead of touching him, I shit on him. “What the hell happened to you anyway? You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backward.”

“Slept in my car,” he replies, shrugging as though it’s a normal occurrence.

“What do you mean you slept in your car? ”

He blinks slowly, seemingly confused as to why I’m failing to understand a simple concept. “I mean, Nadia kicked me out. It was after three in the morning, and I had nowhere to go, so I slept in my car.”

I don’t like his tone, but I like what he’s saying.

Nadia is the worst. She and Sev have been on and off for the better part of two years. It’s been a tumultuous relationship, fraught with more breakups than I can count since the beginning. Of course she’s a Bulgarian supermodel, and of course she’s eye-wateringly stunning.

Of course I hate her.

My feelings toward her aren’t just a case of me being an asshole.

Nate doesn’t like her either, and he’s an excellent judge of character and not prone to jealous assholism at all.

He says she’s completely wrong for Sev, and thank God for that, or I’d be panicking my head off about how long she’s been around.

I hate it when Sev dates anyone for obvious reasons, but on top of that, I hate it because he has this terrifying way of drifting through life as though he has no control over what happens to him.

He has a lackadaisical attitude toward relationships that stresses the fuck out of me.

Relationships seem to materialize around him without his active participation.

I know for a fact he moved in with Nadia without ever willingly consenting to the arrangement.

He's one of those people to whom anything could happen at any time. And I really do mean anything.

It scares the crap out of me.

The good news is that Nate says Sev and Nadia won’t last. He says they have nothing in common, and the only reason they’ve lasted this long is because the language barrier has worked in their favor.

Nate says that if either of them understood the other better, the relationship would have crashed and burned in a matter of months.

“Why didn’t you go to a hotel?” I ask mildly.

“Eh. It was late. I couldn’t be assed to check in somewhere.”

That’s a lie. Sev hates calling anywhere to make reservations. Absolutely hates it. Doctors, dentists, hairdressers, you name it. If he can’t book online, he’s not going.

I’m immensely cheered by the news of the breakup, and though I try not to show it, I can’t resist fishing for details. “So, what happened?”

He reverts to the slow blinking. “Um, I packed my shit, put it in my car, and went to sleep in the back seat.”

“No, asshat. I mean, what happened? Why did she break up with you?”

“Oh, you know, ‘You don’t know how good you have it with me.’” He does an above-average impression of Nadia, complete with aggressive head twitching and an authoritative finger waved close to my face.

“‘I know what I want in life. I know what’s important, and I know my own value.’” He sighs softly.

“And me? Well, I don’t know any of those things.

” His eyes are dark and unreadable as he gives me a shrug that’s meant to depict indifference but falls a little flat.

“In short, I missed her deadline to propose, and she lost it with me.”

“ Propose!? ” I say like it’s a made-up word.

A bad word that should never be used in polite company.

Or any company, for that matter. “What do you mean propose ? You’re casually seeing each other.

I mean, yeah, you live together, but you break up every few months.

She slashed your tires over the summer. She can’t expect you to marry her. That’s insane. Is she fucking crazy?”

He shrugs and quirks his lips to one side. “I did gently ask about that, but…that’s when the yelling started.”

I laugh despite myself. The thought of anyone having the balls to question an irate Nadia if she’s crazy mid-breakup is damn funny. “I hope you don’t mean you actually asked about her mental health at a time like that, Sev. You must have some sense of self-preservation. Surely. ”

He looks at his feet and replies shiftily. “I, er, I didn’t word it exactly like that, but…”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re a lost cause.”

“That’s what Nate said when I told him.”

“What else did he say?” One of my favorite things about Nate is that I can always count on him to be the voice of reason when it comes to Nadia. He’s been my solid ally against her since day one, and he’s never let me down once.

“He said I need to spend some time thinking about what I want out of life, and if it’s not Nadia, I need to cut her loose. He got all stern about it. You know when he gets all dad-like and you can tell he’s using his hands to talk, even though he’s on the phone?”

I nod. I know that vibe very well. I’ve been on the receiving end of it plenty of times.

Nate’s one of the few people I know who can make you feel scolded and loved at the same time.

It hits right when he does it, and as a result, Sev has been known to try to emulate it when dealing with me under less-than-ideal circumstances.

It makes me so angry that I almost black out.

“He was like that.” Sev stretches his jaw and attempts a weak grin. It falters. “I feel like a dick,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know that’s what she wanted. ”

The way he says it makes my stomach churn. Sev can be loud and brash and a bit of a mess, but he hates upsetting people. Hates it. I don’t think he’d marry the wrong person simply to stop her from being upset, but I’m also not one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t.

“D-did you do what Nate said? Did you think about what you want? Because if it’s not Nadia, you don’t have to marry her. You don’t have to, Sev. No one can make you.”

Before he has time to reply, Lockie Eastwood joins us. “Hey, T-Dog,” he says in a sing-song voice, turning his phone screen to me to show me his ticket. “Looks like we’re sitting together. Cool, huh?”

Lockie is a rookie this season. Nice guy.

Tries a little too hard, but nice enough.

He has that whole neat-featured face thing going on in such a big way that it makes you wonder how he got this far in his career without taking a few hard knocks.

He’s well-liked for being so new to the team.

For some reason—most likely related to being a gay man with an accurate gaydar—he’s decided we should be friends. It’s fine. I don’t mind him.

Sev reaches for Lockie’s phone and checks his seat number. “Change of plan. You’re in F2 now, kid. You’re switching seats with me. ”

Lockie’s face falls, but he quickly corrects. “Sure. No prob, Sev. It’s all good.” He turns to me, blinding me with a dazzling smile. “I’ll catch you on the bus, Tee. Or in the lobby. Or the bar.”

There’s a low rumble beside me.

“Hey, Rook,” Sev growls as Lockie takes his leave. “It’s Mister Dog to you.”

Every part of me reacts. Every single part. Big parts, small parts. Parts in my chest. In my head. In my pants.

They all slow and start to swell.

Now, believe me, I know how ridiculous my response is.

I’ve spent countless hours in therapists’ offices over the years, and they’ve pored over my childhood, my relationship with my parents, my sexuality, and they’ve broken my attachment style down in detail.

Sev’s too. I know all too well that Sev only does this kind of thing because of some sort of personality flaw or crossed wire.

Something that happened years ago, when, for whatever reason, Sev caught Nate’s protectiveness of me.

He caught it cold. Like a virus. More like man-flu, really, because it’s a serious ailment and he can’t seem to shake it.

“What did you do that for?” I whisper angrily .

Sev glares at me like I’m an idiot. “Um, that guy is a little prick. I saved you. You should be thanking me,” he waves in my direction, “not…whatever this is.”

I glare at him. “I don’t need you saving me from a damn thing, Sev, and I especially don’t need you saving me from getting dick.”

His eyes darken to pitch black and he scowls at Lockie.

I love it.

Even though more than one therapist has assured me that Sev’s possessiveness of me is a flaw, I love it. I know it’s problematic, and it’s not a compliment or aspirational in any way.

I know it’s a red flag.

Too bad I eat that shit up.

I literally cannot get enough of Sev’s red flags. I could eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still want more. Swallow them all down and run back for seconds. Shove them in my mouth and suck on them until I gag.

Hmm, wait a minute.

I seem to have gone off course.

Oh yes. That’s it. Sev’s possessive behavior isn’t good. It’s controlling, and I shouldn’t encourage it or read anything into it.

I definitely shouldn’t masturbate to it as soon I get to my hotel room in Edmonton.