Page 12

Kota

T he boys were up three-to-one by the start of the third period. Bridget and I were enjoying the game, getting rowdy alongside the rest of the student section.

But honestly, I was starting to have a hard time focusing.

The group of girls sitting behind us, which I could only assume were freshman by the way they were dressed like they were heading to a party and by their juvenile conversations, wouldn’t shut their fucking mouths about the players.

“I want number one,” one of the girls said.

“Ooo!” another responded. “He’s captain, right?”

Bridget and I traded equally annoyed glances.

I could’ve sworn they’d almost gone through the entire roster, rating all the guys and calling dibs on the ones they wanted. It had been easier zoning them out when they weren’t talking about our roommates though.

“Well, I want number eighteen,” the last one said.

“I already called dibs on him, Katie.”

“I don’t care. I want him.”

I raised a brow, facing the rink as I listened in on what they were saying about Crew.

No fucking wonder why the dude had such a big ego. Girls that he didn’t even know were drooling over him left and right. I wished more than ever that I really could chop his balls off and sell them on Ebay. I’d bet these freshmen would pay big bucks for them.

Bridget leaned closer to me. “I wish they would shut up.”

“Do you want me to make them shut up?”

Normally Bridget didn’t condone my impolite behavior, but this time, she gave a supporting smile, along with a shrug. “Kinda.”

“Done.” I spun around. “Hey,” I said, looking over the freshmen. They were even more dolled up than I originally thought. Who the hell put on so much makeup and minimal clothes to come sit in a cold hockey arena? Weren’t they freezing? They looked like they were on their way to a damn club and just decided to stop here out of convenience.

“Why do you guys want number eighteen anyway? He sucks,” I said.

Two of the girls quietly sunk back as if they had a mute button that I just hit.

The last girl shot me a dirty look. “Then why are you wearing his jersey?”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I was prepared to spit fire. “None of your damn business.”

“Then stay out of our business,” she spat.

I leaned forward. “You make that a little damn difficult to do when you’re practically shouting it in the middle of a hockey game.” Slightly, she retreated. “Whatever,” she muttered, looking back to the ice.

I turned back around with a smirk, giving Bridget a subtle fist bump as she let out a giggle.

“Sometimes I like when you’re a bitch,” she whispered.

I smiled wider, eyes back on the game. I watched as Crew sent a North Dakota player into the boards with a clean hit, immediately causing my smile to drop and my jaw to become tense.

It wasn’t that I necessarily wanted Crew to be the one getting hurt but every time he made a good move, I could feel a pulsing coming from my core and I couldn’t help but think about him wearing that goddamn suit.

I didn’t drop my game face often— if at all— but I’d be lying if I said I was entirely composed earlier. The worst part? He could tell.

I was trying to be at ease though. For all he knew, I was only acting that way to make him think he was getting to me. Either way, it seemed like he’d forgotten all about my hot and bothered encounter when he saw me wearing his jersey.

He still hadn’t gotten me back from my tampon mistletoe prank. And after today, I was sure he was extra fired up.

He may have been out for blood on the ice right now, but I knew damn well he was going to be out for blood at home too.

I smirked at the thought of a challenge.

Bring it on, Crew.