Page 43 of Arrogant Puck

She presses my leg outward again, firm, smooth, focused.

I want to destroy him.

I want to slam him up against a wall and crack that smile right off his face. I want to look him in the eye while I ruin his life and make sure he knows it’s because of her. Because he spoke to her like that. Like she wasn’t the most fucking competent, serious person in that whole damn facility.

She’s not soft. Not sweet. She’s sharp. Quietly dangerous. She keeps her power locked up, wrapped in professionalism and dry sarcasm. And Riley—he doesn’t see it. He’s blind. He thinks she’s here with me because I want to see her pretty face? That I’ll bend at his will if he throws her at me?

That stirs something deep inside me that shouldn’t be unleashed.

Fucking idiot.

She adjusts my leg again, and I suck in a breath. “Four,” I say when she glances up.

Her eyes narrow. “It’s more like a six. You’re tolerating it.”

I lift an eyebrow. “What, are you psychic now?”

She doesn’t answer, just grabs the band again and shifts beside me. Her shirt rises just enough for me to see the soft line of skin above her waistband.

I inhale, grip the sheet beneath me.

I want her hands to stay right there. Pressing into me. Fixing me.

Pretty privilege, huh?

And then she releases, documents it, and leaves without saying good night.

I stare at the city skyline from the balcony while smoking the cigarettes I hate.

Riley has no idea what’s coming for him.

The next day, the locker room door swings open under my hand, and I freeze. There she is—Sage—crouched beside Mitchell’s bench, her small hands wrapped around his ankle. Her dark hair falls like a curtain as she works, and Mitchell’s looking down at her with this stupid, grateful smile that makes my jaw clench so hard I taste blood.

“Just a little pressure here,” she murmurs, her voice soft and professional. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Mitchell laughs. “With hands like yours? Impossible.”

The possessiveness that roars through me is so fucking strong it nearly makes me steam. I want to cross the room and rip her hands away from him, want to slam Mitchell against the lockers until that dopey smile disappears. Instead, I force myself to move past them, grabbing my gear with more force than necessary.

What the fuck has gotten into me?

I watch her.

And there that feeling is again. The fucking spark that I’m alive, and I finally found something that I want but would destroy.

Sage doesn’t even glance up. Doesn’t acknowledge I exist.

That pisses me off even more.

I walk to the locker room and strip off my street clothes with sharp, angry movements, pulling on my gear while thinking about her. She explained something about ice and elevation to Mitchell, her fingers gentle on his skin, and the sight made something dark and ugly twist in my gut.

I slam my locker shut harder than necessary.

Riley’s office door is cracked open when I knock, and his head pops up from behind a stack of paperwork.

“Slater? My man. What’s up?”

“Need to talk to you after practice,” I say, keeping my voice level.

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