Page 25 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

eleven

Oli

O ur hotel door rattles as I slam it shut behind me.

Thankfully the ride over and walk up here was blissfully silent.

I know neither of us feel good about what happened.

Yes we hate each other, but shit like what just happened is unheard of.

Never touch the goalie. I assaulted my own on national TV.

Note to self: avoid all press going forward.

Melanie, our PR agent, is probably working overtime right now. Shit. I’ll have to make it up to her.

I just want to go to fucking sleep. I’m too wired, though.

This restlessness in my bones hasn’t left me since Andre got signed, and I don’t know what I can do to make it stop.

I haven’t been able to relax since checking into this fucking hotel either.

I try and fail to ignore the asshole I room with.

The game should almost be over and I doubt we’ll be winning. Shame hits me now .

I can’t believe I lost control like that.

I need to talk to Coach. The last thing I need is to room with Andre every time; it’s already fucking things up.

Maybe if I grovel at his feet, promise him I’ll get along with Andre .

. . or whatever getting along would even look like between us.

Something has to change, though. I’m too distracted. I haven’t slept.

“I really thought you were better than this, Oli.”

Slowly I turn to Andre, who’s peeling off his shirt. “What?”

“Can I add hearing loss to all the other things that seem to be wrong with you? Shitty captain, shitty listener, shitty friend.”

“I’m not your friend!”

“Not my teammate either. You do shit to help me on the ice!”

“Me? Why are you even in the net if you aren’t going to stop anything? I know it must be hard to do anything without daddy dearest helping you, but I thought you knew that much!”

“Fuck you, Oli. You know what would have helped? I may have let in goals but your team only scored two. Shitty fucking defense. Taking zero fucking shots! Pathetic.”

“No, what’s pathetic is having everything handed to you, then cheating your way to the top, and still sucking at blocking shots. What, daddy didn’t train you enough?” Andre shoves me backward. Rage balls in my chest. This prick.

“You have no fucking clue what I’ve been through to get here!” he growls, pushing me harder and surprising me as I fall against the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me again.”

Andre squares up. He’s almost as tall as me, but I’m bigger. I don’t feel like it, though, when he’s so close like this. When we’re breathing the same air .

Out of every player that could have filled Rocky’s spot, this asshole got the job?

Once again, Andre is handed shit where other people have to earn it.

No one can convince me this was the best option.

“You don’t know shit about what I’ve been given.

How I’ve trained, and what that man has taught me. ”

“You’re a spoiled fucking brat who fucked me over so I’d lose my chance. You stabbed me in the back!”

“I got signed after you left—”

“Left! I was kicked out!”

“Because you assaulted me! They would have just put you in a program. I don’t know what you think I did, but I’d never hurt your chances!

Ever.” The way his voice breaks almost makes me pause.

Those hazel eyes waver, just for a second, turning to glass before they harden.

“You were my best friend, Oli.” He punches my chest. It’s a weak hit, though.

“Why would I do that to you? How would I even do that?”

Isn’t that the question I’ve asked since it happened? Again, I come up blank. “Because you’re a snake, Andre. You stabbed me in the back so the Vipers would choose you instead! I was the only thing standing in your way.”

“Look at what you’ve become, Oli. Your mother wouldn’t want—” I swing.

I don’t think. My fist connects with his cheek.

Andre stumbles back and it’s like my mind shuts down.

Rage unfurls around me like phantom hands guiding my every move.

I clutch onto his shirt and punch again. And again. And again.

Andre struggles, pushing me away while trying to get the grip I have on his shirt to lessen.

I can’t. I’m too pissed. My hold lightens up a touch.

I’m fucking shaking. I’m going to kill him.

“Don’t ever fix your filthy fucking mouth to talk about my mother.

” My voice is calm, but it roars inside me. “Ever.”

Quick fear flashes through those hazel eyes, making the gold in them darken. “Oli—”

“I hate you.” I swing again but my mind is clouded. I’m not paying attention and I miss. Andre swings out of my hold, kicking the back of my knee. I go down, stunned by the sudden impact.

Bracing against the bed, I get up and turn on Andre. He looks half ready to kill me and half frightened for his life. Something else laces over his gaze and I don’t know what it is. Heat pools in my belly, and I move on instinct.

I charge. Andre moves faster, running toward the bathroom and slamming it shut. I catch it, nearly shutting my hand in the door. I bang it open. Wood rattles against the plaster. Andre cranks his neck, looking around, maybe for a weapon of some kind. “Oli—”

“I’ve fucking had it.” I stalk to him. Andre backs up to the sink.

I see myself beyond him in the mirror and I’m nearly taken aback by the rage that covers me.

I’ve had it with Andre fucking Tavares. “You come here, to my fucking team, and act like you belong. You are a guest in my fucking house.” I keep stalking.

“That’s my team, my brothers.” Andre breathes heavily and it’s now I realize how close we are.

“Well, your brothers need to learn how to shoot a fucking puck and play some defense. Sloppy fucking plays. That was pathetic out there tonight. They’re supposed to be playing hockey not skating for shits and—”All the contents on the sink crash to the floor.

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Andre smiles, and it’s a playful thing I want to wipe off his smug face. “Make me.”

His eyes flick to my lips, and something molten fills my gut. The air in here feels charged. It feels so thick I can barely breathe. “Andre—”

He hits me.

No, not hits, he, he . . .

With his grip tight on the back of my neck, he kisses me hard.

Those fingers around my neck bring a sweet pressure I want tighter.

Hot and hard, his mouth slants over mine, and I drink him in.

Drown in him. Is this even a kiss? It’s a brutal attack on all my senses.

My body hums to life, the lights flickering inside my mind.

None of it makes sense.

What makes even less sense is what I do next.

I clutch him to me, pulling his body against mine. The heat of him, us, is intense. My lips start to move over his, sloppy and desperate for whatever hell Andre is dragging me down to. “Kuli.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, crashing my mouth down over his. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t really fucking care. It’s as if a thousand sparks of electric heat are crackling inside my chest.

“Why does he turn your light on?”

I shut out Vanessa’s words and focus on whatever the fuck is happening inside this bathroom. Andre shoves his tongue into my mouth. I let out a greedy little groan as he devours me alive.

His fingers go to my shirt, ripping off buttons, not giving a fuck that this shirt cost nearly nine hundred dollars. I don’t care either. He shoves the fabric down my broad shoulders, pulling back to look at my chest .

His eyes on me when I showered weeks ago come back to mind.

They flick up to me now, assessing my reaction, and yes, I must be fucking insane.

“Did I say stop?” I growl. The cocky shit rolls his eyes at me, slamming his mouth down over mine, moving me, backing me up hard into the sink.

The counter bites into my back, but I barely register the pain.

I have one thought in mind right now. I tug at his shirt before finding the collar and ripping it down the center.

“Holy fuck,” he moans into my mouth. It’s heat and pain.

Ice and fire. I don’t want to stop. My cock strains against my zipper.

Andre looks down, smirking, taking me in.

“You know, Ol. I hate you too.” But he smiles, shaking his head.

“I hate your voice. I hate the way you smell. How you look.” He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth.

“I hate those blue fucking eyes, and that stupid soft fucking mouth.” He swallows hard.

I track the movement with my eyes. “Most of all I hate the way I can’t stop thinking about the monster you have between your legs.

” He shakes his head, disgust covering him. “Is that what you want to hear, Oli?”

Andre flicks the button of his pants before pulling them down and stepping out of them. My eyes dip down to the briefs clinging to his muscular thighs. Goalie thighs. I have the urge to wrap them around my head. None of this makes sense.

Still, I can’t for the life of me walk away.

Dropping to his knees, Andre looks up at me.

His fingers dig into the band of my pants, a question in his eyes, and I drop my head back and groan as his hand smooths up the prominent ridge straining my pants.

“Set me free.” Set my cock free, or me from whatever spell he has me under, I’m not sure.

I watch him as he shakes his head, unzipping my pants, tugging them down enough to let my cock spring out.

“Holy fuck,” he purrs. “I hate nearly every single thing about you. All but this one small thing.”

“Small!” I push him away from me. He clings to my pants, not being swayed, holding himself in place. His rubs his face along my dick, nearly growling as he breathes me in.

“It’s adequate.” He smiles, looking up.

“Are you going to suck it or are you going to be a dickhead?”