Page 28 of Arrogant Puck

I stare straight ahead. One knee bouncing. My right hip’s throbbing from this morning’s hit drill.

“I don’t need—”

“Not the main reason why I’m pissed right now, Slater,” he cuts in, sharp.

Ah. So here we go.

“That shove in the third drill?” he says. “You launched Turner straight into the boards!”

“He was in my way.”

“He’s your goddamn teammate.”

I lean back in the chair. “He’s fine.”

Coach sighs like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Slater. You keep pulling this shit, you’re gonna force me to sit you. And if I sit you, the whole league’s gonna be watching.”

I give him a look. “Then don’t sit me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

He dismisses me with a flick of his hand, like I’m a headache he doesn’t have time for.

I walk out, jaw tight.

And then I see her.

The new PTA.

Laughing at something Belinski just said.

Sage. Soft mouth, careful eyes. I remember exactly how her pulse jumped under my fingers. The way her grip on my wrist didn’t feel like panic. It felt like control.

And now?

Now she’s sitting there, smiling like I didn’t have my hand on her fucking neck twenty minutes ago.

Like I didn’t just threaten her.

She’s not afraid of me.

And that pisses me off more than anything.

I walk right up to them and stare.

Belinski glances at me, then back down at his leg. “I’m good.”

Smart man.

Sage doesn’t even freeze. Doesn’t stiffen. Just lifts her gaze—cool, neutral—and moves to adjust a wrap.

Like I’m invisible.

Like I didn’t shake her to her core.

“Sage,” I say.

She doesn’t even glance at me. “Wait your turn.”

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