Page 124 of Twisted Play

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.

The anthem started, and with it, the vibrator roared to life, making my knees buckle. From my spot in the student staff section, I gripped the railing, trying to stay upright as the crescendo of voices sent waves of pleasure through me. The players on the ice, the crowd around me, Cole and Tristan’s burning gazes—everything blurred except the intense pulsing between my legs.

That’s when I made the mistake of looking toward thebench. Alek stood with his hand over his heart but turned his head toward me, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline when I swayed. His expression shifted from curiosity to dark interest as I struggled to keep my composure. Whatever he thought was happening, the intensity of his stare only made everything worse.

The vibrations peaked with the final notes of the anthem, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a whimper. Through the haze of my arousal, I watched the ref drop the puck for the opening faceoff. Cole won it cleanly, sending it back to the defense with a sharp snap of his stick.

The game moved fast, the players’ skates cutting clean lines through the fresh ice. I tried to focus on taking notes, but every time the crowd roared—at a big hit, a near miss, a fancy stick handling move—the vibrator responded.

“You okay?” Elijah asked as I white-knuckled the railing during a particularly loud cheer for Tristan’s breakaway attempt. “You look flushed.”

“Just nervous about the first game,” I managed, watching Tristan’s shot ping off the crossbar. The crowd’s disappointed “Ohhh!” sent another wave of pleasure through me.

When I glanced back at the bench, Alek was still watching me, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. I couldn’t read his expression, but the weight of his gaze made my skin burn, as intensely arousing as the toy Cole used to ensure I wouldn’t forget who I belonged to during the game.

“Eva!” Katie’s voice startled me. She stood on the stairs beside Elijah, shouting over him to get my attention, her expression a mix of sympathy and amusement. “Oh, honey, what are you doing in Haruto’s jersey?”

“Drink accident,” I managed, watching Cole slam an opposing player into the boards with far more force thannecessary. The ref’s whistle shrilled, and the crowd’s angry response had me clutching my tablet as pleasure rocketed through me.

Katie looked me up and down, and I wondered if she figured out what was going on. She looked fucking perfect, gorgeous in a slim cut version of Haruto’s jersey, jeans so tight they might have been painted on, and perfectly highlighted blonde hair that hung in a straight sheet down her back.

She pressed her lips together and then nodded sharply, as if she’d come to a decision. “Come on.”

“What? Where?” I couldn’t miss the game—my job was to watch. “I can’t?—”

“I’ll be back.”