Page 40 of Heartbreak Hockey

Theo blows a bunch of kisses as Bea picks him up and waves goodbye. Before she can say anything, Mercy slams the iPad shut. “Oh, look at that. They had to go.”

“You were talking about me,” I say with my arms crossed.

“I vent about work annoyances to my sister all the time. Why are you here, Leslie?”

He refuses to call me Jack now. It’s hilarious. At least something is, because now that I’m here, I realize I don’t have a plan. I kinda ran with Casey’s “you should suck his dick” idea because it was an awesome idea when I was in the safety and comfort of my own home.

Now, I’d rather swallow my own hand. I’m all nervous, which is stupid. I’ve been in control of my feelings for a solid four months now. Mercy shows up and suddenly I’m spinning back to the dark Rhett bubble I’d popped and broken out of. Only more proof that none of this is good for me.

“I need some advice,” I say. Why the fuck did I say that?

“About your footwork? I have lots of advice for you there.”

I look skyward. “I’m sure you do, but it’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Leslie?”

“Do you really think I could get drafted if I get my stats up to where they used to be?”

Last week, Coach held private meetings with each of us. Well, private as in “not in front of the team” but Assistant Coach Elias was there too. He harped on my stats from when I was awesome like he was beyond baffled about them. Said he’d never seen stats like that without the player getting snatched up, even fought over like with what happened to Rhett.

“I told you, Leslie. It’s a fucking crime you weren’t drafted that year. In fact …” From there he goes into what I call coach mode. It’s different from the Mercy I taunt and badger to death, while I ride the line, without going over the line at practices. He waxes poetic about my ratio of shots on goal to scoring points. He belabors my ability to score when we’re shorthanded. He talks about a lot of hockey stuff that even I find boring. “Hell, even your assisted goals were nearly the best in the league that year, shows good team playing. Coaches like to see that.”

He's been talking for at least ten minutes. His voice is relaxing. I’ve made myself at home on his couch, letting the timbre of his tone lull me to sleep. Almost. He killed us today and everything is tired, even my eyeballs. They need a rest.

“Are you listening to me, Leslie?”

My eyes shoot open. “Fuck. Um, yeah. You were saying how awesome I was. Gosh, Coach. I’m beginning to think you’ve been stalking me.”

“Don’t read too much into that. I’m neurotic about all my players. I might be brutal, but it’s because I give a fuck.”

Yeah, whatever. I’ll care when I can keep my eyes open.

He shakes my arm. I jump. “Easy there, Leslie. Don’t know if what I gave was advice, but did you get what you came for? I’d really like you out.Now.”

What a prick. “Yeah, I’m leaving,” I say as I lug myself up off his couch, which is more comfortable than it has any right to be, and patter toward the door with a complaint for him as I go. “You’re the one who said your office was open and that your penthouse was your off—”

He slams me against the wall.Hard.My heart takes off at a gallop. He pins my wrists to the wall beside my head. His brawny fingers emboss fiery prints into my skin, but I bear the heat because they’re nothing compared to the piercing intensity of his cornflower-blue eyes.

Turns out, making me skate on the ice till I want to die isn’t the only way Mercy can steal my breath.

“I know why you really came here, Jack,” he says, using my given name like a curse. “It’s not gonna happen. Nothing else is going to happen between us.”

“You’re attracted to me too.”

He grits his teeth. “Not an anomaly. I have a penis. It wants to sink itself into attractive men.”

If I were in a movie, I’d dramatically push him away. Instead, I’m frozen and … and I don’t want him to release me. I never want the searing heat of his skin to let go of me.

“In fact,” he says, leaning toward my ear so that the air from his lips brushes over my skin and sends a wave of shivery tingles through me. “My dick wants to fuck you so hard into my mattress you’ll have sheet burn.”

“Fuck.Please,” I beg. My dick wants that too.

He pats my cheek with his agile hand. “No. I have this thing called a brain and I use it to exercise self-control. Get the fuck out, Jack.”

“You’re a—”

“And one more thing,” he says, cutting me off. “I saw some interesting things when I was down at the corner store earlier. I was simply going to bust everyone and make an example, but I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you give them a warning. Tell your associates that if I find out they’ve had even one bite of their illegal junk food, I’ll find a way to bench them all or worse.”