Page 47 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Is it weird that my heart’s breaking, even though I didn’t break up with anyone? There’s a weird hollow in my gut, like the world fell out of me. Like the world lost something.

“Bender can’t be your rebound.”

“He’s not, Ace. I promise. He’s … look. I’m the only one who’s gonna get hurt here. He hates my fucking guts, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

“The way he smiled in there?—”

“Was because I told him the dirty shit I was gonna do to him when I got back, and he was half asleep.”

Bender does hate Shep, but apparently not his dick. Only … that look on his face. I don’t think it’s just lust. Great, he’s been dickmatized, hasn’t he? Happens to the best of us, I guess.

“Look, are we cool, Ace? I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Yet you crashed in my fucking room.”

“We couldn’t exactly use the one I share with Huddy, and we thought you’d be with you know who all damn day.”

I get that pang again when he mentions Huddy . It feels the same way grief does. Why? Why should I care so damn much? It’s their lives.

But I so wish Luke was balls deep in me, fucking this horrible morning out of my existence.

“No, brunch with my dad, remember?”

“Honestly? No. I don’t make a habit of memorizing schedules, but especially not your insane one. We thought someone would be balls deep in you all morning.” He smirks.

I regret how much I’ve shared with them. And, um, I should probably tell Luke that Bender knows about us, too. That’s probably gonna buy me some more orgasm detention, but I couldn’t have Shep know and not Bend. Surely Luke will understand that?

Yeah, even I know that’s a definite no. He lives to spank my ass and sexually torture me. For some wild reason, I smile on the inside about that.

“I need a damn minute,” I say, charging past him.

I head back into the room and beeline for my gym bag. Normally, in this kind of mood, I’d be slamming pucks against the boards, but right now I need to punch something. Repeatedly. The heavy bag’s better than Shep’s face.

“You’re gonna wake him up, asshole,” Shep hisses.

Too late. Bender rolls on his back, rubbing his eyes. “Ace?”

“Go back to sleep, Bend,” I snap.

He exchanges a look with Shep. “He knows.”

“Ace we’re sor?—”

“Save it.” I sling the bag across my body, push past Shep, and stride out the door.

My hands shake, and my chest is too tight. My throat’s sore like I’ve been yelling, even though I haven’t. Can trapped screams still scar? All I know is I’ve got to get out of here before I collapse.

Hours later, my hands are so bloody and battered, Coach is gonna have words for me. But I can’t stop. The rhythm of my fists slamming the bag is the only thing keeping me together. The ache in my hands is sharp, real. Manageable.

It’s the silence I’m afraid of. The hollow feeling waits for me the second I stop.

It’s late, and there’s no one here. I’ve been drinking water but missed every meal since that stupid brunch.

“Mind if I join you, student who I think I remember from my class?” a familiar voice says.

I turn just so I can roll my eyes at Luke.

“Of course, Professor . By all means.” He’s being ridiculous.

Only hockey players have access to this gym—and Luke, I guess—but none of them are coming anywhere near here today.

We unanimously agreed that today was a rest day due to pledge week.

I wouldn’t be here either if I wasn’t so pissed off.

Luke sets his bag down. Goddammit, he’s so fucking sexy in those red gym shorts and that muscle tank. It’s oversized—don’t know how he found something oversized for his size—and shows off his arms, shoulders, and most of his lats.

Know what else is physical? Sex. It’s weird that I didn’t think about it earlier. Sex is totally the answer to all my problems. “Maybe we should take this?—”

“No. Check your phone.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

I was supposed to text Luke when I was done with brunch.

Forgot about that. He must have been losing his damn mind.

My phone’s been in my bag on silent. I wasn’t planning on being here this long, but time got away from me.

He pulls out a set of hand wraps as I check. Shit. A whole string of messages.

Wolf Daddy

You have to be out of brunch by now.

Where are you?

Ace.

If I find you with tequila in your hand, you’ll never sit again.

Never mind, I’ll find you.

A chill runs through me. Okay, he might be just a little pissed at me for ignoring his texts.

I’d walk into the underworld to retrieve you, princess.

Luke found me.

I study Luke as he wraps his hands with practiced ease and then stares at a black set of gloves lying on top of his bag like they offend him.

He puts them on and then he pounds the bag so hard the gym shakes.

Dayum. He’s in-fucking-credible. I drink a bunch of water and some of my hydration drink while he beats the shit out of a heavy bag.

He’s not just hammering it, either; there’s real technique there.

I’m just a hockey goon. We have a way we fight that’s akin to clobbering, but Luke’s got the finesse of a fighter.

Precise, controlled. A different kind of dangerous. The kind that makes your knees buckle.

Man, I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know anything about my friends, and my dad doesn’t know a thing about me. I need to punch the bag again.

“You gonna let me in, Professor? Or you gonna hog it for the rest of the night?” My body aches, I’m not even sure I’ll be able to swing another punch.

He pauses, sweat dripping, lungs heaving. “C’mere, princess,” he says softly. “I wanna see your hands first.”

Princess. I melt a little. Guess he’s devised that we’re alone. My lack of protest surprises me. If I’m honest, I’m yearning to be stopped … or something. I dunno. I’m yearning, period, and I don’t know what I need to fix it.

Fix it, Luke.

“You fight like a goon,” he says after his assessment.

“I am a goon,” I shoot back, proud and offended.

He shakes his head. “No more heavy bag for you.”

“Says the guy with no skin on his knuckles.”

“I used gloves,” he says, holding one up like it’s Exhibit A. “And I don’t give a fuck if I’m a hypocrite. Now, do you wanna learn something or not?”

He’s fucking adorable when he looks after me in the bossiest way imaginable.

“Okay.”

We move over to the mats and kick off our shoes. He ditches the gloves.

“Stand more like this, a staggered stance, and keep moving. I’ll block only, no punches.”

“You’re gonna let me punch you?”

“You can try.” He smirks.

“You arrogant sonuva bitch.”

“Language. Now, c’mon. Hit me.”

He’s infuriatingly good. I can’t land a punch to save my life. He mostly catches my punches in his meaty werewolf hands, dodging, deflecting, bobbing, and weaving. An hour passes—or an eternity, it’s hard to say. My legs are jelly. My lungs are crying. He hasn’t even broken stride.

I’m dying for a break. No, scratch that. I’m dying to die in a heap on the ground, but it’s clear Luke’s not gonna let me. Unlike me, his stamina is never-ending.

“You ready to talk to Daddy, princess? I could do this all day.”

“Arrgh!” I take a swing that he evades so easily; his being an actual werewolf is the only explanation.

He laughs.

“A bunch of stupid shit I have no right getting pissed about,” I huff.

“Try me, and don’t fucking drop your hands again or the spanking I’ve got planned for you later’s really gonna smart.”

“There’s a spanking on the line?” I squeak.

“Always.”

Bastard.

I launch into it—Dad’s engagement, Shep and Hudson. Bender. I’m a mess of gasps and footwork, but he listens like I’m telling him something sacred, somehow managing to fit boxing advice in while I talk.

“See? It’s stuff I don’t have much control over. I just needed to blow off steam.”

He yanks me forward by the waistband of my shorts. “You done, princess?” His breath is hot against my ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe. “There’s nothing left of me.”

Luke lets go, pointing to my water bottle with a grunt I translate into “drink”.

I guzzle the water, huffing and puffing.

I’m not even gonna pretend he didn’t kick my ass.

Oddly, this felt like a spanking. He worked me over hard enough that I feel reborn.

My feelings aren’t gone, but I’m a little more removed from them than I was earlier.

“I’m not an expert on either,” he says as he removes his wraps. “Love or fathers. I lost mine when I was barely old enough to remember him.”

“I’m lucky to have my dad around to argue with,” I murmur.

“True, but not where I was going. You and your dad’ll work things out.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. He’s not doing anything wrong, and it’s been years. I can’t expect him to become a monk … Can I?”

He raises a brow.

Sigh. “Guess not. What about the thing with Bender?”

“Simple. You like protecting people.”

“Yeah, so do you,” I accuse.

“I do, and it’s not a bad thing, but sometimes you’ve got to let people work through things on their own.”

I cross my arms at him. “Oh really. And you’re sooooo good at that, huh?”

“Didn’t say I was, but I’ve been forced to do it a time or two.”

“And what if it were me? Would you stand idly by and let me work shit out on my own?”

“I think me hunting you down is proof that I would not, but I own your ass, McKinnon. That’s different.”

I smile. First real one all day.

“There we go, princess. That’s better.” He hucks his wraps into his gym bag, plastering his sweaty body to mine, and risking a kiss to my lips like we’re not in the middle of a gym.

“I feel a bit dramatic now. When Shep told me, I decided love was dead. Is that true?”

“Thought you said it was dramatic?”

“Answer the question, Daddy.”

He stares into my eyes and then kisses me again. “It’s not true—hearts and shit, McKinnon.”

“Mhm. Hearts and shit, Daddy.”

He spanks my ass. “Get yourself to my place, princess, and if you’re late, I’m pulling out my paddle.”

“Wait, how long do I have?”

Luke shrugs his big shoulders with a devious twist of his lips like the menace he is.

Fucking asshole. Sigh. But he’s my fucking asshole. So, I get my ass to his place, because spanking or no spanking, I’ll enjoy every damn minute.