Page 54 of No Pucks

“I’m telling you. We’ve slept together a few times. It’s not anything more.”

“But you’re going to keep sleeping with him. That’s why you’re telling me?” He keeps pressing.

I should have known this wouldn’t shut him up. “Yes.”

Evander narrows his eyes.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me anymore. I’m only telling you so you know where I was last night and because I don’t lie to you.” I set my finished mug aside and lean back. “So stop panicking.”

“I will if I want to.” He’s quiet for a minute. “What does this mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” I lean forward, putting my elbows on my thighs. “I have a game this weekend. I need to leave shortly. If you figure anything out, I will help you, but it’s going to have to wait until I’m home Sunday.”

“I didn’t realize you have a game this weekend.” He stands and opens his arms. “Give me a hug.”

I wrap my arms around him, treating him like he’s still smaller than me. “Everything is going to be okay. Maybe it will be good for you to pretend to be sick. Once we figure this all out, Mother won’t have to go with what Dad says about school, and she might let you stay.”

He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. “Do you think she’d let me?”

“I think so.” Or she might be easily convinced to stick it to our father. “Lay low for a few days, and I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

He nods.

Anthony seemsa bit standoffish on the flight and through team prep for the game, but I don’t read into it with the pressure of our first game. I give him space, needing it myself anyways after the conversation with Evander. Am I being so different with Anthony? I guess I am.

But I’m enjoying it. It’s probably just the forbidden aspect. Plus, I like seeing how many of Anthony’s buttons I can push and flip the switch into desperate. I’m not doing anything wrong, and frankly, I’m getting silent revenge for my mother, so I don’t see anything wrong with continuing.

I glance at Anthony as I change, only half listening in the locker room before our first game. I go through my usual routine to get my head in the right place to skate. Every player does it, and if they say they don’t, they’re lying.

“We are going to try a few different lines today to see who meshes best together, so don’t be surprised if I rotate some of you in and out—” I zone out again. “Don’t get discouraged. This is only the first game, and the lines aren’t set,” Anthony finishes, meeting my eyes and making me raise a brow.

Why does everything he says make it feel like he’s talking directly to me?

I like hooking up with him. That doesn’t mean he needs to baby me or give me special treatment.

Wolfe runs us through our warm-ups, and Anthony looks like someone pissed in his corn flakes when we sit back down. He won’t meet my eyes. Great. I scan the crowd and spot my parents sitting right in front. A small crowd gathers around my father,who’s playing celebrity. I roll my eyes and don’t wonder about Anthony’s mood anymore.

If the man puts me in a bad mood, I can’t imagine what he does to Anthony. He gives us some last-minute tips then calls out names. I wait to stand until he gets to mine, but it never comes. I stare at him long after the guys get on the ice and the puck is dropped, but he doesn’t spare me a glance.

So it’s going to be that way. I’m not exactly mad, but I know there’s a reason for this, and he didn’t tell me. How many opportunities did he have? Am I wrong for thinking I deserved this? I’ve done everything he has asked me to do without complaint.

Is he making some sort of point?

Could us sleeping together have the opposite effect on him? Not that I’ve ever wanted or expected special treatment, but I was recruited by Rex to fill this specific place on the team. There isn’t anyone better, even if I have my faults.

It’s a painful three minutes watching Raven unable to keep up. Anthony isn’t anything like I expected him to be coaching. He sits for the most part, calm and collected, even when Raven doesn’t get back on D and Wolfe is scored on in a brutal two on one.

I grind my teeth, eyes boring into the back of Anthony’s head. He swaps half the line but doesn’t say my name. Finally, he pulls out one of the Ridgeways and puts me in on the wrong damn side. I shoot him a side glance as I hop the wall. Do I look like a damn lefty? He avoids my gaze.

Great. Now I have to play not my position and try to pull something out of my ass to prove myself to him. I don’t dare even look at my father. I know he’s furious. I can’t wait to hear about it after the game.

“What are you doing over there?” the other Ridgeway asks when I take his brother’s place.

“Don’t fucking ask me,” I say through my teeth, but we don’t have time to talk it out, because Wolfe stops a shot on goal and we’re sprinting back.

He passes it up to me, and I spin around my defender, finding Ridgeway open in the middle. The defense crashes, and the goalie manages to claim the puck.

Fuck.

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