Page 6 of Troublemaker

Hisduty.

Not because he cared.

Because he was still being dutiful to my long-dead father.

Well, he could shove hisdutyup his ass right next to that hockey stick.

I had mayhem to make and trouble to plan, after all.

I turned to go, already plotting. What was my first move? I guessed I could figure out how to melt the ice in the rink…

“Oh, and Lucy,” he added. “I had to make a deal with the dean to keep you in good academic standing. You’ll be volunteering.”

“I already volunteer,” I said. I worked at the Gehenom animal shelter two nights a week. Even though I wasn’t a vet yet, I did what I could to help.

“More volunteering,” he said. “Not the type that’s connected to your major.”

Dread filled my stomach. He sounded too satisfied; I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Where?” I asked.

“With the hockey team.”

Fuck.

Me.

But I wasn’t about to let him win.

Turning back around, I twirled my hair and looked at him from under my lashes.

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ve had my eye on some of the players, anyway. This will just give me a chance to know them better.”

With that, I swayed my hips as I made my way out of his office without saying another word, opening the office door and slamming it on his animalistic growl.

As I sashayed out of the office, I winked at his assistant.

“See you later, Trey,” I trilled, knowing his eyes were on my ass.

“You’re just making our lives harder,” he called after me.

I giggled. “Who’s hard?”

Trey sighed. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“I hope so,” I said.

I did hope so.

As long as it was therightkind of trouble.

2

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Iwas a good man. Itriedto be a good man. Paid my taxes, devoted myself to my players and my team, donated to foster care-related charities, mentored orphans just like I’d been mentored all those years ago. I was in control of myself and everything and everyone around me, and that was how I liked it.

I needed to be in control of myself. I’d never known my own parents, but all the adult caregivers I had known were drunk and abusive foster parents who probably couldn’t even spell control. I’d been big, even as a kid, so they usually picked on foster siblings and not me. But I was the only protection my foster siblings had, so I’d put myself in the way, letting myself get beat on until I was big enough to do the beating myself.