Page 88 of Twisted Play

Eva’s lips opened in that “o” of surprise that was so fucking adorable.

“Kitten, don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cole said, slamming his hands onthe steering wheel. “If this turns into training a fucking pet instead of just getting my rocks off for stress relief, I am going to lose my mind. Eat, or I’ll take it out on your hide, Eva.”

Her eyes widened, and she grabbed the egg sandwich, now cool, and bit into it, wincing with every bite.

I wondered what it would take to get her to obey me with the same alacrity as she obeyed Cole. Guess we’d find out.

34

ALEKSANDR

With less thana week until the first game of the preseason, I intended to ratchet up the pressure on the boys until they were a rock-solid squad of Marauders flying over the ice.

My informal office in the locker room offered me a view of the team as they flowed in, all rubbing sleep out of their eyes—all except Cole Carter and Tristan Baptiste, who swaggered in like they were on top of the fucking world.

At eight o’clock on a Sunday morning? Something was off.

When the team captain checked Cole, Cole didn’t react, just grinned and held up his fist for a bump.

Wonders never fucking cease.

Tristan poked his head into my office, ever polite, ever a rule follower—a gratifying contrast to the rest of the cowboys on the team, despite his moniker.

“Morning, Coach,” he said.

My eyes narrowed. Tristan looked refreshed. “Good morning, Baptiste,” I practically snarled, not ready to untangle this puzzle so early on a weekend morning. Myknee ached with the rapidly cooling weather, and Sunday drills were as miserable for me as they were for the team.

By eight thirty, all the players were on the ice, stretching, playing, and messing around. I limped out, skating onto the ice then entering the bench area where I’d sit and watch.

Eva fucking Jackson waited for me, disheveled, her eyes bright, dressed far more casually than I usually saw her for practice. Her curly red hair was tangled and messy, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were swollen and bruised. She clutched her tablet to her chest while she watched the players intently, and I wanted to rip her attention away from them, force her to look at me.

“Good morning, Coach,” she said, refusing to meet my eyes.

Jealousy wound through me, hot and poisonous. Jealousy of two of my players. Students. For fucking another student. The thought of Carter and Baptiste’s hands on what was mine made bile rise in my throat—and wasn’t that fucking ironic? I’d brought her here to destroy her, not possess her.

My phone sat heavy in my pocket. One photo would be enough to destroy her father—to show him exactly what his debt had reduced his daughter to—but something held me back. The same something that made me want to drag her into my office and mark up her skin and claim her.

Blyat, I was exactly as disgusting as Eva accused me of being.

Had she dropped to her knees for them like she had for me? I hadn’t even fucked her yet, hadn’t made her do anything but make me coffee since her interview.

My hands itched, wanting to wrench her away from the boys, to stake my claim. Mine. Mine toruin, I remindedmyself, ignoring the feral voice snarling thatminedidn’t need a qualifier.

“Good morning, Ms. Jackson,” I growled, not bothering to contain my ire. “Report?”

Eva rattled off the players’ stats from the week before, including injuries, as if she wasn’t a disheveled mess. It wasn’t anything I didn’t already have solidified in my head, but I enjoyed watching her under pressure, the fire that lit in her eyes when I pushed her even more.

I blew my whistle sharply, twice, and the players clambered to their feet and skated over to the box.

“First game of the season is this weekend. Twenty minutes of finders keepers to loosen up your muscles, and then we’re going to run drills until you fall over,” I snapped. Elijah, our student equipment manager, tossed pucks onto the ice.

Eva’s eyes shot to Carter and Baptiste, her lips parting and her breath speeding up as they played with each other.

I looked her up and down again then looked out at the two of them flying over the ice, their puck handling the best I’d ever seen it as they traded one off between them.

“You fucked them,” I accused her, entirely inappropriately, my possessive rage overcoming my good sense as a faculty member.