Page 15 of Rules

“Well, how about this?” I grit through my clenched teeth. “Get your lazy ass off the couch and do it yourself.”

With those words, I turn around and storm out.

* * *

“Go, go, go!” Lia chants next to me, jumping to her feet. It’s her first game since she and Derek officially got together, and she’s been overly excited cheering on the Wolves. If I didn’t love her as much as I do, I’d probably find her annoying.

“Calm down, pompom girl!” I wrap my fingers around her elbow and tug her down. “You’ll poke out someone’s eye.”

“Derek asked me to come and cheer him on.” Lia blushes crimson, sitting back down. “He said something about them not having cheerleaders.”

“Why would they need them when they have you?” I joke.

“The only thing you’re missing is an ultra-short skirt and pompoms,” Jeanette adds, the two of us sharing a knowing smile over Lia’s head before we realize who we’re talking to, both abruptly turning back to look at the game happening on the ice.

Jeanette’s Max’s twin sister, and if you think I don’t get along with him… Well, my “relationship”, for lack of a better word, with her is even worse. Beautiful with her olive skin, short black hair and those damn piercing gray eyes, she’s the epitome of privileged, full of herself, Ice Bitch. Lia tried to assure me Jeanette’s not that bad, but Lia would believe a thief trying to pass as a homeless person and invite them home, so I’m not sure if her opinion is relevant. Either way, to say Jeanette and I can’t stand each other would be an understatement. But somehow we end up being pushed together over and over again.

Take today for example. Lia asked me to go with her to this game, but not once did she mention that Jeanette was going too. I could see Jeanette was surprised when I came, but we tried to play nice as not to hurt Lia’s feelings.

Pushing the thoughts of her out of my mind, I watch our goalie promptly stop the puck that was shot his way. The game transfers back to the center, two guys facing off in the middle. The tension as they stare at each other is palpable. The second period is slowly coming to an end, and there is still no score for either team.

Watching from here, it seems like it takes forever, but it’s probably just a few seconds before one of the guys gets possession over the puck. The crowd groans loudly in protest as we watch the guy in the green and yellow jersey skate away.

Everybody starts moving at once, the ice a mess of white and green jerseys. Wolves surround the poor guy just as he tries to make a pass to one of his teammates, but the puck is intercepted by Hill, who passes it straight to Sanders.

I’ve never been interested in sports. I had neither the time nor the money for it, but I have to admit I’m actually enjoying hockey. It’s a fast-paced, no-nonsense, aggressive game.

Max goes for the net, but in the last second a guy pummels into him from the side, making him stumble.

This time it’s Jeanette who jumps to her feet, yelling angrily, but I don’t hear a word. My heart slows down, breath stuck in my throat, and I watch his giant frame fall forward in slow motion. I can see his hands move, and somehow, in the last moment, he not-so-gracefully regains his balance, but the puck is gone. The douchebag is flying over the ice with puck in tow, but a white blur steals it from him and shoves the guy into the glass.

Andrew and Derek flip the puck for a while, waiting for their opening. And then it comes. Andrew pretends to shoot to Derek when instead he shoots the other way. To Sanders, waiting in the clear, close to the net. Max gets his stick on the puck and turns in one swift motion, and it’s just him and the goalie.

Max lifts his stick, and you can feel the buzz of excitement spread through Wolves fans as the puck goes flying.

The red light shines as the buzzer goes off.

Take that, bitch.

* * *

The Wolves ends up winning 2-1. It was a difficult game, but the guys managed to score the last goal a few seconds before the final buzzer marked the end of the third period.

I still couldn’t get the picture of Max’s body flying through the air out of my mind. I’ve seen how hands-on and downright aggressive hockey players can be. Tripping each other with a stick, shoving into the Plexiglass, “accidentally” elbowing each other, and don’t even get me started with what happens when the gloves come off. But something about this, about today, was different. Just thinking about it, even now after I’ve watched him play for the last period stronger than ever, I couldn’t shake it off.

Since the moment Maximillian Sanders walked into Greyford, he was a pain in my ass. He’s too big, too chipper, too intrusive, too… everything. He barged into this town, into this school, and heseesme.

Whenever he’s around, when his gray eyes zero in on me, it feels like all the air is sucked out of the space and it gets too hard to breathe.

It messes with my head. My body freezes and my breath gets stuck in my lungs every time he’s around, so I do the only thing I know to stay invisible—I fight it, fighthim, with my bitchy attitude and sarcasm. But the meaner I am, the more insistent he becomes.

He fights my cold stares and icy stabs with jokes and the easy-going smirk on his lips, not once backing down.

It irritates me.

Infuriates me really.

Itthrillsme.

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