Page 57 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

EVA

True to his promise, Cole slipped a vibrator up my pussy a few minutes before he had to report to the arena for the pregame meal and warm-up.

“It’s sound activated,” Tristan’d murmured as he stroked my clit. I clung to him and then stepped away when a group of rowdy players turned the corner. “Now go wait in the stands like a good girl.”

To my shock, they’d dressed me in leggings, warm boots, and Tristan’s jersey for the game instead of one of the slutty outfits they’d bought for me earlier. Tristan had dragged a satin-lined knit beanie over my curls, then bent down to kiss my forehead.

“Find us outside the locker room after the game, okay?”

Cole was less sweet when he shoved me back against the cinderblock wall of the hallway and licked my lips until I opened my mouth for him to plunder. He ignored the players who snickered as they walked into the locker room, pressing his hard cock into my center until I moaned.

“There we go,” he murmured, stepping back to look at me. “That’s the Eva I like to see, flushed and looking like you’re a second away from coming.”

My cheeks flamed, and he chuckled before nipping my earlobe hard enough to draw out a yelp then drawing back.

“Wish me luck for the first game of the season?” Cole said, his face strangely blank, as if he weren’t certain of how I’d react.

I made my decision. Maybe I’d never reconcile the man who blackmailed me into sex with the man who’d gotten up before dawn to force an exclusive boutique to scour the city for clothes in my size, or the man who spent five figures dressing me like a slut, who bought me lunch when all I had was a PB&J.

I surged up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Good luck,” I whispered against his skin, and then I snatched at Tristan’s shirt, dragging him in for the same. For a second, the three of us stood together in a bubble of safe, comforting silence.

“Eva—” Cole began, but I couldn’t let him finish, couldn’t let him make me regret my decision to give him the affection he sought instead of the bite of my sarcasm.

“I’ll see you after the game,” I interrupted.

I hated them. I hated what they were doing to me. I hated my body’s reaction to them.

But it didn’t matter how many times I repeated that to myself—I no longer believed it.

I shoved my way through the crowd to get to my seat, flashing my staff badge whenever anyone got in my way.

I was almost there when the music turned up and the vibrator inside me turned on, distracting me from where I was going.

A crowd of rowdy students slammed into me, dumping sodas and beer all over me.

“What the hell?” I cried, frantically brushing at my borrowed jersey as the liquid soaked through it, trying to breathe through the rhythm pulsing inside me.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” one of the students said, pawing at me with napkins in a futile effort to clean up his mess. The vibrator intensified, and I bit back a moan. This was so fucking humiliating—and hot.

I shoved him off, checking to make sure my backpack was still dry. Thankfully, it was. “It’s fine,” I snapped, relief flooding through me as the vibrations finally stopped.

“But you’re soaked,” he answered, holding his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I raised my eyes to look at him—brown, windswept hair, a jersey, jeans, and a watch that cost as much as my tuition.

You should let him make it up to you , a voice whispered in my head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like what Rory would say if she were here. I silenced it—the last thing I needed was another man interfering in my life. I had quite enough of that at the moment.

“I have to work,” I said quietly, already scanning for the nearest bathroom. I had ten minutes before I had to be in place.

“How about—” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and idly, I admired the effect mussing it had on him, making his cold beauty more human. “Please, let me fix this.”

“Unless you have a spare jersey in your pocket, I’m not sure there’s much you can do,” I said, rapidly doing the math on my bank account, as if I would ever buy a new sweater at the outrageous prices they sold them for here .

His eyes lit up. “Actually, I do.” He grabbed the hem of his jersey.

“Oh no, I couldn’t?—”

But he was already doing that hot thing hot men did, where he lifted the jersey off by the nape of his neck, baring chiseled abs while he did so.

He watched my gaze drop to the strip of skin he revealed then caught my eye with a cheeky grin.

He wore a t-shirt underneath the jersey, and it hugged the tight muscles of his biceps.

“I’m Miles,” he said, sticking out his hand and the jersey. “And I insist.”

I took in the number, and my heart stopped. Haruto’s number. Shit.

“Eva,” I said, accepting the jersey and the handshake. His grip was firm, and he held on a moment too long. “Thank you. I’ll find a way to get it back to you.”

“Or you could let me take you out after the game to make up for ruining your clothes,” he suggested with a smile.

“I don’t date.” I smiled back. It wasn’t quite a lie. “But I’ll absolutely take that jersey.”

“Let me give you my number at least, in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said but handed him my phone anyway. “Thanks for the clean jersey, though.”

Once my phone was safely back in my hands, I dashed to the nearest restroom to change, only to find an “Out of Order” sign on the door. Fuck. The next one was close to the main entrance, and I didn’t have time for that. The staff area was even further. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The vibrator buzzed to life again as the warm-up music started, and I had to lean against the wall until it passed. By the time I blinked back to attention, I only had a few minutes to get into place.

Fuck it. I lifted the edge of my tank top, prepared to change right there. To my surprise, two girls walked by, giving me a double take when they saw me. Their expressions turned to sympathy when they realized what I was doing,

“Someone spilled on you? Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

They arranged themselves in front of me, and I gratefully removed my shirt, leaving me in only an emerald-green, lacy, Cole-approved bralette, not quite indecent, although close. I yanked Haruto’s jersey over my head and stuffed the wet tank top into my bag.

“Thank you,” I said. The girls just laughed and waved their hands at me as they moved on, leaving me blinking with astonishment.

“Solidarity!” one called over her shoulder. Indeed.

I slid into my seat just as the teams took the ice for warm-up—staff seating was just to the left of the bench, behind the plexiglass barrier that kept fans safe and off the ice.

Dr. Parker looked at me from the bench and raised an eyebrow at my lateness but didn’t comment.

I shrunk down in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the number.

“Haruto’s jersey? Bold move,” Elijah, the student assistant to the equipment manager, said. “What’re your boy toys going to think of that?”

Tristan skated by first. His eyes widened when he saw me then narrowed dangerously. Before I could shake my head or mouth any sort of explanation, he’d already turned, skating straight for Haruto.

The hit was brutal, even by hockey standards. Haruto slammed into the boards with enough force to rattle the plexiglass.

Shit shit shit.

But Haruto just laughed, throwing an arm around Tristan’s neck and rubbing his helmet. “Jealous, cowboy?” he called out, his grin visible before he slid down the mask he wore as goalie. He gave me a cocky thumbs up. Guess he’d seen it too.

I watched in horror as Tristan shoved him off, his easygoing smile nowhere to be seen. This wasn’t playful roughhousing,

Shit.

Cole skated over, and the temperature on the ice dropped ten degrees. His eyes locked with mine then dropped to the number on my chest, his fury sending shivers racking through me.

He pointed his gloved fingers at his eyes then back at me. “Mine,” he mouthed clearly before turning to bark something at Tristan that had them both skating harder, their movements sharp with anger.

“Whoa, intense,” Elijah murmured beside me, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “You know the equipment room has spare jerseys, right?”

“I didn’t have time—” I gasped, horrified, as Cole deliberately checked Haruto into the boards during a drill. Alek’s whistle blew sharply.

“Fuck.”

“I’ll grab you one,” Elijah offered. “I never get tapped during games anyway.”

“Please,” I said. “I’ll owe you.”

“Nah,” he said, standing. “But you might want to do something about your boys before they start a brawl during warm-ups. ”

“Fuck you,” I murmured softly, opening an app on my tablet so I could take notes on the team’s warm-up.

I watched helplessly as Cole and Tristan took out their aggression on the ice.

Haruto wasn’t helping, deliberately positioning himself between them during drills and shit talking.

Even Alek noticed, barking out a warning before looking over at me from the bench, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to puzzle out the problem.

His gaze raked over me then fell to my torso, which clearly displayed Haruto’s number. I flushed when he shook his head in disappointment before I straightened, as if he had any right to be angry with me. None of this was my choice.

Fucking none of it.

When Elijah returned, he looked annoyed. “My boss wouldn’t let me get you a jersey,” he said, dropping back into his seat. “Said, and I quote, ‘Let them stew. Maybe they’ll play harder.’”

My heart sank as I realized I’d be stuck in Haruto’s jersey for the whole game. As if reading my thoughts, Cole slammed his stick against the barrier, startling me so bad I jumped.

“You’re in trouble,” he mouthed, his eyes promising retribution. Despite myself, heat pooled in my core at his words.