Page 34 of Pucking Grey

“Maybe if you weren’t wasted right now,” I mutter.

She grabs the hockey stick from me and says, “Like you didn’t have anything to drink.” She glances down at my skates. “You look cute in your skates, Cress.”

I huff. “Do you even know how to play hockey?” I ask that to offend her. I can only assume she was in the rink with her brothers growing up. Her father is a fucking legend. I could tell by tonight that she and Ryan are close. I’ve seen him skate, beyond his goaltender duties, and he’s fast on the ice.

“Do I know how to play hockey?” she scoffs. “I basically invented hockey.”

She sounds like an old man gloating. I roll my eyes unintentionally.

“What?” she questions. “You don’t believe me?”

I flick my brow up.

“You think I’m just one of those puck bunnies that decided to say let’s play hockey because I’m dating a hockey player?” she asks.

I shrug, trying to get on her nerves. I’m riling her up before our game. I need her to get rowdy, down, and dirty. She touches me with the hockey stick as we walk to the ice rink.

“If I dated Foster, I wouldn’t say let’s play football because he plays football. I can’t throw a ball to save my life. But I grew up on the ice, so I can talk the talk and walk the walk, Greyson.”

She said my name to intentionally test me. I don’t take the bait, keeping my gaze ahead of us.

“I’m ready to see how good of a puck your hockey stick is.” When I stare at her, she laughs her head off. She touches my arm. “Come on, Grey. This is supposed to be fun.”

She glides onto the ice, and I’ve never seen anyone so natural. It’s like she’s fucking floating on a cloud. What the hell? She takes her side of the rink and slaps the hockey stick on the ice.

“Ready to rock and roll?” she questions.

I slide the puck to her, letting her start the game.

“Oh, please.” She whips it back to me. My instant reflex catches the puck. Hell, she’s fast. “Don’t think I need the upper hand because I’m a girl.”

“We’re not wearing gear,” I remind her.

She smirks. “I know.”

I hit the puck, attempting to meet it on the other side of her. Fuck, she’s fast. Now, she has it. I try to block her but she gets through me. Shit, I need to step up my game. I pick up the pace, chasing after her. But she’s too fucking fast. I underestimated the hell out of drunk Maddie.

“SCORE!” she shouts, holding the hockey stick up. “Suck on that!” Is she using the hockey stick as a dick? Meanwhile, I’m retrieving the puck to ignore the show she’s putting on. Hell, I don’t want the girl to have a dick or even a pretend one.

I shake my head. “Am I really winning if I beat a drunk girl?”

“Greyson can’t get his dick sat on for one whole month,” she sings.

I take the puck from the net and snicker. Jesus Christ. Is she sober now? I lock eyes with her. Nope.

“It’s funny that you think I can’t sleep with anyone for a month. Who do you think I am?”

“A fuckboy,” she shouts. “God, you are such a man whore.”

I hold the puck in place as I glare at her. “Yeah, well, those are terms for a reason.”

She stands still as I race with the puck into the net. But she’s not chasing after me.

“What?” I say, scoring the next point.

“Are we all warmed up? Ready to treat it like a real game?”

“I’m treating it like a real one-v-one.”

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