Page 36 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Ace

L uke.

That fucking asshole.

Damn him straight to hell. Because of him, I have the worst case of morning wood I’ve ever had.

Since I opened my eyes this morning, I imagined Luke getting dropped into a pit of vipers.

And of course— of course —in my mind, he doesn’t just die horribly.

No. He valiantly fights them all off with those big, stupid man muscles of his, twisting them into pretzels and strutting around in his boxers with one he tamed, slung around his neck like a victory scarf.

Even in my revenge fantasies, he ruins everything with his undeniable hotness and over-the-top alpha male machismo.

Worse? That little fantasy was so hot, my miserable dick cried cum tears, and I can’t even do anything about it. I mean, I guess I could. I can exit what we’ve got going on at any time. But let’s be real. All I want in life right now is that callused hand wrapped around my cock.

Okay, and maybe that massive hog of a cock pounding me into the mattress. It’s quickly becoming my whole personality.

And, alright, alright , maybe there are at least forty-two other things that have been showcased in fantasies since meeting Luke VanCourt.

He’s already making one of them come true, even though it’s annoying as fuck.

The boxers he ruined with his hunting knife?

He’s making me wear them for the rest of this trip as a way of “being with me when he’s not with me,” and a reminder of who I belong to.

Didn’t know how much I was gonna fucking love this shit.

“Every time you feel a breeze, you’ll think about Daddy,” he said.

“And you said you weren’t romantic,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “What about when I’m changing in the locker room? The guys might notice.”

“Guess you’ll have to figure something out—not my problem, McKinnon.”

Not my problem, McKinnon. Fucking asshole.

“What about when I stink to high heavens on the bus ride home?” Smells like that permeate.

“Guess no one will want to sit with you or touch you. Shame.”

He was thinking about Bender. Fucking jealous asshole.

I kind of like hating his guts over his dastardly ways and bitching about it, even though I wouldn’t change a thing. Only in my head, of course—no one knows about our arrangement—but bitching about it is half the fun.

Smiling to myself, I dress in my gray Armani suit, with my lucky blue tie from Mom to match my eyes. Luke had to meet up with Coach to discuss a few things, but that bastard knew I was sexually frustrated and ready to murder him. He enjoyed every second.

There’s a text from Dad to tell me to bulldoze Portland and about seven other texts I’ll deal with later. Things were tense between Dad and me over the summer. Our usual camping trip was kind of a bust. We had the same fight we always have about Mom.

He thinks charging forward is what she would’ve wanted.

Smiling through the pain, building a future.

But I can’t, not like him. He moved on so fast, it felt like he was trying to erase her.

I want to remember everything. I want her in the little moments—from when I’m taping my stick like she showed me to the songs I won’t delete from my playlist, even though they wreck me.

Dad calls it emotional quicksand. I’ll sink if I don’t start moving.

Fuck, I should tell Luke about our family camping trip.

Oddly, I could picture him there. It would be just my luck that Mom liked him.

He’d impress her by chopping all the firewood, something she claimed not to like doing, but really, it was because she loved watching Dad do it.

Then she’d teach him her never-fail fishing lure combination and they’d be fucking besties.

Of course, they would.

Luke walks onto the bus. I stop breathing.

I don’t know where the suit store is, the one that makes clothing for werewolf men, but he found it, and I might pass out.

The navy blazer strains across his shoulder girdle and arms where his biceps meet his massive deltoids.

He’s done something with his hair, put product in it.

I didn’t know he knew that hair products existed.

It’s artfully styled on top, with a lone, dark curl dangling to the middle of his forehead.

His facial hair’s trimmed close to his jaw, defining it.

I’d be fooled into thinking he was a civilized werewolf if I didn’t know him better.

The bastard doesn’t look at me, which is a good thing, I’m already doing too much staring.

Eyes back in your head, McKinnon.

It’s too late, though. My cock has fallen in lust with Professor VanCourt. If he doesn’t do something about my boner soon, all my other organs will fail from lack of blood to them.

Shep snags the seat beside me this time, and Bender gives him a dirty look but takes a seat behind us.

“What’s his problem? He doesn’t own you,” Shep says. If Bender hears him, he doesn’t say. I punch Shep in the arm hard enough to bruise, but can’t help thinking how Luke would agree with him.

It’s not unlike Shep and Bender to fight over me like we’re in fucking grade school.

They both have their own issues, though, so I don’t judge, but it’s still fucking annoying.

I try to be there for them as best as I can.

Shep’s not snuggly, though, because he has a boyfriend. Don’t think they share.

The bus hasn’t left the hotel for the game yet, and already my phone’s buzzing. Fuck, what now?

I pull it out to check. A smile almost breaks free, but I catch it in time.

Wolf Daddy

Not gonna comment on the suit? I’m disappointed.

Me

Yeah, curious where they sell size circus tent.

Wolf Daddy

Me

Oh, c’mon that was funny and a compliment. You’re the size of a werewolf, and I fucking love it. You look fucking edible in that suit.

“Who’re you texting with?” Shep asks. “Someone I should know about?”

Nosy fucker tries to see what’s on my phone. “Get the fuck out, Shep.”

“That only makes me more interested. You haven’t dated anyone in, well, ever. This still the same guy you told us about?”

I had to tell them something since I reappear with hickeys in the same areas. Luke has favorite spots, okay? But I didn’t say we were dating.

“Shhhh, not so loud. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just a repeat hookup, because he’s majorly fucking hot,” I lie badly. That’s not gonna fly with my friends. I don’t chat with hookups.

My heart beats so damn fast as I pray Shep didn’t see any of that conversation. It’s not hard to parse out that I’m talking to someone on the bus.

“Fine,” he says. “Keep your secrets. I just wanna live vicariously through you. After you’ve been with someone for a while, things get stale.”

“You and Huddy okay?”

“We’re … fine. But we’ve been together since first year, and it’s been forever since that … falling-in-love rush.”

None of that sounds good.

“If you need to talk about it, you know I’m here for you, yeah?” I’m dying to see what Luke texts me in response to my flirting, but I’m never gonna be able to check my phone now that Shep’s being a snoopy prick, and now I’m worried. I thought Shep and Hudson were a sure thing.

“Thanks, man. I will, but I’ve already been talking to my older sister about it a bit. She says it’s normal for relationships to have ups and downs like this. It’ll blow over.”

“I hope so. I already have my doubts about love. If you two don’t make it, there’s no hope for guys like me.”

“Not true. You’re pretty hot and heavy with mystery guy.”

“Shut up.” But I steal a glance at Luke in the stunning suit, all clean lines and lethal calm, and something shifts in my chest.

He’s mine—I think. My throat tightens anyway. Is this that falling-in-love rush Shep’s talking about?

Fuck, is there any way to stop it?

Maybe … maybe for once, I don’t want to.

“You have it bad, McKinnon,” Shep murmurs in my ear to be a dick. I haul off and punch him in the arm so hard it gives him dead arm.

All with a smile on my face.

We’re a full period and a half into this game, and I’m over it.

Portland’s the most boring ass team in the league. Hardly any fights, no pushback. Just us skating around them like they’re pylons. Scoring goals is fun and shit, but I like a challenge. Something to sink my teeth into.

So—and I will never admit this out loud—North Point might be my favorite team to play, because they’re almost as good as us.

“Change,” Coach shouts, and thank the hockey gods for that. I need to be out there.

Luke behind the bench isn’t quite what I thought it would be.

At first, it was. He paced the bench like a caged animal, barking orders like a drill sergeant in that deep, rough voice of his that makes my knees weak.

I was seconds away from punching out one of my teammates for the way they were lusting over him.

But that intensity? It fizzled.

Coach got on my ass, snapping me back to focus, reminding me that every game counts toward the team’s future. Right. Donors, interested fans, and all that. Then finally— finally —I got into it good with Portland’s right defense. Helmets flew. Got a nice, bleeding gash across my eyebrow.

And I waited for it. The look, a growl, his “what the fuck were you thinking” snarl.

But there was nothing.

Luke went still. Jaw locked, eyes cold, hands laced behind his back.

And I dunno. Maybe I expected him to rip me out of the first aid guy’s hands and tape me up himself. Unrealistic? Yeah, but I wanted something .

But again, nothing.

It’s worse than nothing. His silence is colder than the damn ice under my skates.

I know we gotta be secret and shit, but Christ, it’s messing with me. I feel off. Off kilter. Off fucking balance. Like I’m skating with one blade shorter than the other. Rationalizing it doesn’t help, and my insides feel like I swallowed too much Pepto Bismol.

Fuck.

This. This is why I don’t get attached. Love leaves me.