Page 36 of Arrogant Puck

I leave them all on read. No energy to reply tonight.

The team group chat lights up next.

Jason: Boys, we’re gonna break that power play down this time. Watch that second line try to come in high.

Rossi: If their goalie flinches again, we crash the net. Every damn time.

Trent: I want blood, baby.

My screen hovers with the keyboard open.

I don’t type a thing, remembering what happened the last time I picked on a rival team. How my brother didn’t come out alive because of it.

I throw the phone onto the couch and head to the fridge. Leftover chicken. I eat it cold. Don’t even bother with a plate. Just rip pieces off the bone with my teeth while leaning against the counter.

At some point I shower the pussy smell off me, change into clean joggers, and fall asleep on top of the sheets, fully dressed.

The next morning smells like metal and rubber.

The gym’s already humid with sweat and testosterone.

Jason and Rossi are spotting each other at the bench, yelling like idiots. Trent’s arguing with a trainer about sets vs. reps like he’s trying to win a Nobel Prize in fitness.

I slide my headphones in, but they’re dead.

Just my luck.

So, I go without them. Pull my hoodie over my head, pull the hood up, and head to the free weights.

Jason spots me and raises a hand. “Yo! You missed the best part of the convo—Trent thinks foreplay is a handshake.”

“Facts,” Trent yells from across the room. “It’s just a warm-up, not a performance.”

The guys laugh. I don’t.

Rossi grins. “Tell him, Slater. Tell him he’s gonna die alone if he keeps that energy.”

I grip the barbell tighter and start my first set.

Let them talk.

Trent swings his towel over his shoulder. “You see that girl I pulled Saturday? Girl had a tongue ring and no gag reflex. Shit was wild.”

Jason laughs. “You’re gonna get syphilis.”

“Worth it.”

I add more weight. Shoulders burning, arms shaking. Still not enough.

Rossi sighs. “Wish my girl had no gag reflex. Can’t even shove a popsicle down her throat.”

“Divorce her,” Trent jokes, and they all laugh again.

Their noise fades behind the pound of my heart and the grinding inside my skull.

Every rep feels like punishment.

Every ache in my hip, a reminder.

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