Page 41 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

“Okay, got it.”

A fire exit was propped open by a traffic cone around the back of the building. Sally pushed the door open and strode in, stripping off her coat.

I followed her example. “Are we allowed down here?”

We were on the lower level of the building, an area I’d never been to before. There were locker rooms and the coaches’ offices, as well as a gym and a few meeting rooms. We strode down the hall. The doorway of a changing room opened, and players in Hellions jerseys strode out.

Someone whistled loudly.

“Looking good, Kenna!”

“Hey, she’s wearing my number,” someone else called.

Kenna smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder and shooting a cheeky grin in the general direction of the players still piling out of the changing room.

“Got a few fans there, I see,” I said to her.

She rolled her eyes. “Please, those guys flirt like they breathe.”

“Have you ever, you know… hooked up with anyone?”

She sighed. “I’ve passed the time with a few seniors over the years, when I was new, and didn’t know what players hockey players are. Dumb, right? Who’d have thought? But I’ve learned my lesson by now. Hockey players are for fun, not for Christmas.”

I was busy tying my jacket around my waist and smiling at Kenna’s comment, when I walked into a wall.

No. Not a wall.

A chest… an exceptionally broad one. I bounced back with a gasp and stared up.

Marcus stood in front of me, dressed in a hoodie and training pants. He had his stick in one hand and his huge sports bag in the other. The very same style of bag I’d stolen from The Clutch. Just the sight of that bag made me feel guilty, now that I’d met Cole and a couple of the Harbor Hounds.

“My, my, what is my pretty little music professor doing down here in the tunnel? Lost or looking for someone?”

“We’re here to see you kick Raptor ass, so you better make us proud,” Kenna said and then gasped, ducking behind me. “Shit, there’s the guy.”

“Go! I’ll cover you,” I told her.

She made a break for the stairs in front of us and disappeared upward as the opposing team appeared at the end of the hallway.

“I better go. Have a good game out there,” I told Marcus quickly. I took a step to go around him.

His hand shot out. “Not so fast.”

I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, but before I could get the words out, he tugged me into a small corridor to our left, with lockers lining one wall and a storeroom at the end.

“What?” I protested. My back hit the wall.

“You think I’m going to let you watch my game wearing that?” Marcus said.

I wrinkled my nose as I considered his words. “You got something against jeans?”

“Nice try, Ari. The number… it’s Anderson’s, and since I don’t fancy murdering my best friend, you need to change—and while you’re at it, explain why you thought it was a good idea to wear a number that wasn’t mine. My name is the only one that should ever be written on your back, baby.”

I pushed him away, trying to drag some air into my lungs. He was too damn close, and tall, and sexy as hell in his training clothes.

“Kenna gave it to me. It’s no big deal,” I told him firmly.

But he was already rooting around in his sports bag.

“It’s a big deal to me. You want to put me off during an important game?” He handed me the spare shirt he’d found in his bag. He moved next to me and started threading my arms through the Anderson jersey.

“It’s a jersey,” I pointed out.

“Hmm, and it’s my name that should be displayed on that frankly outstanding body, no one else’s.”

Marcus pulled the jersey over my head, and I let him. We were only a few yards away from a busy corridor and could be discovered at any second… but it seemed whenever I was with Marcus, I couldn’t help myself.

He took his time tugging the new jersey down, his hands covering my breasts for a beat, thumbing my nipples that strained toward him though the lace.

“If you forget, maybe a pretty tattoo would go there nicely,” he mused softly.

He ran a finger in a line along my chest, right above my heart.

“It could say Marcus’ Girl , or maybe… Bailey’s Babe. ”

His mocking tone should have annoyed me more, but I knew him too well by now. Nothing was serious, and yet there was more genuine sentiment under those teasing words than I’d ever heard from a man before.

“Or how about I keep it simple and just say— mine .”

My breath caught. He leaned in and brushed a kiss against my lips, light as a feather.

“Is this breaking the rules, Professor?”

“Hmm” was all I could manage and wished he’d close the damn distance and kiss me again.

A throat clearing stopped my wicked thoughts in their tracks.

I jerked away, while Marcus barely flinched. He slowly turned to follow my gaze. A hockey player stood at the end of the corridor, leaning an arm on the wall and smirking at us curiously. He wore the black and red of the Raptors.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I must have got turned around.” He ran his gaze over us in a way that made it clear he was enjoying having caught us in an intimate position.

Marcus yanked the jersey down from my middle, where he’d still been holding it, and stepped in front of me.

“Does your coach know you’re wasting energy right before a big match? Williams seems like the kind to forbid that kind of contact pregame.”

They guy’s accent was British and thick as hell. He sounded like a guy born to mock, and someone who clearly enjoyed it.

“It’s none of your business, Sinclair.”

Ah, so this was one of the Sinclair brothers Kenna had been talking about. I got it. He seemed like trouble.

He smirked. His eyes took in the way Marcus had stepped in front of me.

“Say, isn’t she the new professor everyone’s talking about? The pianist? Must be a nice change for HHU to make headlines for something other than sucking at hockey.”

Marcus took a step forward, and the other player laughed.

“I’m Brody. Brody Sinclair. Forward of the Raptors. Nice to meet you, Professor.”

His words were sending Marcus’ ears up around his shoulders. I had to de-escalate the situation. I tugged at Marcus’ shoulder to get him to break the deadly stare he’d fixed on his opponent, but he didn’t budge.

Brody chuckled. “Don’t get worked up, Bailey. We’ll have plenty of time to tussle together in a few minutes, unless you’re going to let your dalliance with the professor make you late. Sometimes it pays to pick a game you can actually score in.”

“Marcus,” I interjected, sensing the anger in him rising and rising.

He couldn’t get too worked up. If he lost it during the game, it could cost HHU a victory, and this Brody asshole knew it.

“Go and get ready. We’ll talk later,” I murmured. “Mr. Bailey,” I said in a hard tone when he failed to listen.

His tension faded, and he ripped his attention from Brody’s face to look at me. Something in his tight jaw relaxed at the sight of me.

He nodded. He eyed me up and down, and a ghost of a smirk touched his lips.

“That outfit suits you, birthday girl.”

“Don’t get mad,” I started.

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t get mad. I get even,” he said and jerked his head toward the end of the hall. “Now, get your gorgeous ass out there and watch me win.”