Page 221 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

"Yeah?" He doesn't sound surprised. "What'd Axel want?"

"To tell me he got an B on his Organic Chemistry exam." I can't keep the smile out of my voice. "He's doing really well. Hasn't touched anything in five weeks."

"That's good." Revan's hand finds mine, squeezes once. "Really good, Lex."

It is good. Axel's been going to meetings, actually attending his classes, even joined a study group. He calls me every few days now—not to ask for money or make excuses, just to talk. To be my brother again. Which is exactly why I came to this college in the first place.

Some wounds are healing. Slowly, but healing.

"And Thea?" Atticus asks, his hand sliding to my thigh. "Still giving you shit about us?"

I laugh. "She's given up trying to understand it. Now she just wants details."

"And you give them to her?" Revan's voice has that edge of possession that never fully goes away.

"Some." I lean into him. "Enough to make her obsess."

The game resumes and Koa takes the ice again. He's on fire tonight, stealing the puck at center ice and taking off on a breakaway. The crowd rises to their feet as he approaches the goalie, dekes left, goes right, and buries it top shelf.

The arena erupts.

I'm on my feet too, screaming with everyone else, and I see Koa's head turn toward our section as he skates back to the bench. Even from this distance I can see the grin on his face.

Atticus pulls me back down into my seat—except not into my seat. Into his lap. His arms wrap around my waist from behind, holding me against his chest, and I feel his lips brush my ear.

"You're mine for the next period," he murmurs, loud enough only I can hear over the crowd noise.

"Am I?"

"Yep." His hands tighten on my hips. "Koa had you during warm-ups. Revan gets you after. Right now you're mine."

I glance at Revan, who just shrugs, that small smile playing at his lips. We've figured out a system over the last month—not rules exactly, but an understanding. A way to share without constantly fighting over territory.

It works. Mostly.

Koa takes the ice again for his next shift and I watch him skate, powerful and dangerous and completely in control. He lines up for a face-off near the boards—right in front of where we're sitting.

Atticus slides his hand higher on my thigh, deliberate, making sure the movement is visible. Then he turns my face toward him and kisses me—not gentle, not quick. Full and deep and claiming, right there in the stands where anyone can see.

Where Koa can definitely see.

I hear the crack of impact before I process what's happening. Koa just absolutely destroyed an opposing player against the boards directly in front of us, the hit so violent the glass shakes and the crowd gasps.

But Koa's not looking at his opponent. He's staring directly at us through the glass, chest heaving, and even through his helmet I can see the fury in his eyes.

Atticus breaks the kiss, grinning. He raises his hand and flips Koa off.

"Are you insane?" I breathe.

He pulls me closer, adjusting me on his lap so I can feel exactly how much he's enjoying this. "Watch. He's going to absolutely lose his shit."

Koa skates away as the game continues, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands grip his stick just a little too tight.

The second period continues, and Atticus keeps pushing. Every time Koa skates past, Atticus does something—kisses my neck, slides his hand under my jersey, whispers something filthy in my ear that makes me warm.

And every time, Koa's play gets more aggressive.

Finally, during a stoppage in play, Koa skates over and bangs his stick against the glass right in front of us. He pulls off his helmet and I can see his face clearly now—sweaty, furious, turned on despite himself.