Page 39 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

“Oh, Trevor,” Sophie says sadly, taking my hand where it’s resting on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I give a slight shrug, mostly because a full one causes movement in my ribs and my left shoulder aches from hitting the glass last night. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I chance a glance at her. Her eyes are a darker blue than usual, and her brow is furrowed. I hate seeing worry clouding her expression.

“It’s not a big deal, Soph. I’m sore. A couple days rest, and I’ll be good as new.”

Daphne points her fork at me. “You’re getting hit like you’re a piñata at a six-year-old’s birthday party. You’re a target. It’s amazing you haven’t been hurt more severely.”

“Wait.” Sophie focuses on Daphne. “They’re hitting him on purpose? More than usual? Why?”

No one answers her, and everyone trains their eyes on their plates.

“Because of the show?” she asks.

Mac clears his throat. “Yeah. Some of our opponents are saying nasty shit to him and playing more physically than usual.”

“Well, punch them. Aren’t hockey fights a thing?” She curls her fingers into tiny fists like she’s going to fight them on my behalf. I bet she would, given the opportunity.

Mac shakes his head. “We’re not allowed to fight. We can be kicked out of the league. It’s not like the human professional league. Every time Carter has the puck, he has a target on his back.”

Sophie slams her tiny fist on the table. “Then stop passing him the puck!” She looks around like we’re idiots for not thinking of that.

“My job is to get the puck and shoot it in the net. If I don’t have the puck, there’s no reason for me to be on the ice, and I may as well be figure skating.” I rest my hand on her thigh so I don’t strain my shoulder. Thankfully I can use my fingers to caress her without feeling pain. Her hand drops to mine, and she lightly runs her fingertips along the back of my hand. It’s the barest of touches, but it’s soothing a lot of my aches and pains.

“Can’t you avoid them?” Her voice is husky, and tears glisten in her eyes.

“I can’t play scared. That’s a sure way to get hurt. I get hit. It’s part of the game. I’ve been hit thousands of times. I’ve been playing since I was a kid. If you don’t want to get hit, you shouldn’t play in a professional league.”

“So, quit the show,” Sophie says quietly. “It’s not worth it if you’re going to get hurt because of it.”

I look up to see Mac’s eyes boring into me. I feel the weight of all my teammates’ eyes on me. She’s giving me an out. I can focus on hockey, and we can get back to playing more consistently.

It’s tempting.

But I can’t do it.

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “I’m not quitting. I made a commitment, and I’m going to honor it. It’s three more weeks. I can do it. But I’m taking a rest day today. We can start choreo when we get home tomorrow.”

I don’t look at my teammates to see what their opinions are. The gratitude and maybe something more shining in Sophie’s eyes is all I need. I don’t know if I’m making the right decision, but it’s the only choice I can make.

15

SOPHIE

“Oh, Trevor,”I say on an exhale as he takes off his shirt in our room. Normally those words are in appreciation of his sculpted muscles and smooth skin. This time it’s in dismay. We undressed in the dark when we arrived early this morning, so this is my first glimpse at all the bruises painting his torso and shoulders. “How are they allowed to do this? That isn’t nice.”

“Honey, hockey isn’t about being nice. It’s about winning. If I’m an obstacle to them getting the puck into the goal, then they’re going through me, and if I get bumps and bruises, so be it.”

My heart trips when he calls me “honey.” He’s been doing it more often the past few weeks, and I don’t know if he even realizes it. I know I slip sometimes and call him “baby” or use “boyo” as a term of endearment. It’s been so easy being together. It’s not feeling like a fling. It’s feeling like…life. Like this is what our life could be like for years to come. I know his slips of the tongue don’t mean anything, but for a moment, I can pretend we have a real relationship and not something with an expiration date. In the weeks we’ve been no-strings sleeping with each other, I’ve begun to see what having a true partner is like. And I’ve begun to ache for one. It terrifies me. Because it’s not just any old someone I’m aching for. It’s Trevor. I want a partner, I want to be in love, but I don’t want to hurt anyone, and the things I want and don’t want will only hurt a man like Trevor. Trevor in pain, physical or emotional, is the last thing I want. If only he wasn’t who and what he is. But if he was any different, I don’t know that I’d feel as deeply as I do for him. I wish I wasn’t who and what I am, but trying to change would only lead to unhappiness for us both. Still, I can dream. But not now. Right now, the priority is Trevor and him being healthy and safe while playing hockey.

“It’s more than that. They’re trying to hurt you. It’s not about scoring, it’s about injuring you. They’re talking about me to get to you. Not just you, but my brother too.”

My brother doesn’t have a temper. Even when we were kids, he was the one that always played fairly. But he’s protective as the day is long, and if someone’s speaking badly about me, he’ll settle it. A flush creeps up Trevor’s neck and along the sexy stubble dusting his cheeks. He takes my hand and pulls me into his embrace. I want to snuggle in and hold on tight, but I’m afraid of hurting him.

“It doesn’t matter what he said.” Trevor nuzzles the top of my head with his nose. “Chirping is part of the game. We’re professionals and should tune it out.”

“But you’re not. Dec isn’t. He reacted, and then it all came down on you. I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

He slips his calloused palm under my T-shirt and runs it up and down my back. If I was a cat shifter, I’d be purring.

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