Page 19 of Pucked Up

“Merde,” I swore. “Why?”

He gave me a look that said,Do you really have toask, and no. I didn’t. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I let him go and bolted down the hall, heading for the back exit of the rink. I knew where he was parked and the little sporty piece of shit he drove.

I made it to the curb and saw him wheeling toward his car, his arms picking up speed as he saw me. I didn’t slow down. My feet stomped hard on the asphalt as I raced him and managed to slam my body against the driver’s-side door.

“Seriously?”

I took a breath. “Boden?—”

“No. You can yell at me and berate me and call me a shit player when I’m on the ice. You don’t get to do that out here.”

I stared. “Is that what you think I came to do?”

“I know you know,” he said.

I blinked at him. Shit. Was he really going to bring up our night together out here? Now?

“I know you know I’m trying to make you look bad.”

I deflated. Yes, right. Of course. It had nothing to do with how deep I took his dick. I licked my lips, which were far too dry. “You’re only making yourself look bad. I’m not going to stop you tonight, but is this really the captain you want your team to see?”

“Why do you care?” He slipped into French, and it was like something unknotted in my chest. “What does it matter to you?”

“Because it matters to you. I know what you want, Boden. I know that your old coach let you down, and I don’t want that to happen. But I can’t domy job for them—or for you—if you keep this up. What scout is going to want to recruit you to a PPHL team if this is how you deal with something you don’t like.”

“Fuck you,” he spat in very clear English.

Bowing my head, I nodded. “I get it.”

“You fucking don’t.”

I wanted to laugh because he had no idea, but this wasn’t the time or place for it. The clock was ticking, and I had a dozen people waiting for me to do my job. “I want you at my office tomorrow.”

He stared at me, a challenge in his eyes.Mon petit feu, I thought loudly. I nearly said it but only just managed to hold it back.

“One o’clock.”

“I have work.”

“Make time for me,” I ordered.

He sucked in a breath, then swallowed heavily. “Three thirty. If you’re not at your desk, I’ll leave.”

I would be there. I would sleep in my fucking office and piss in a bottle under my chair if I had to. We were going to have this out. “You won’t miss me.”

He lifted his chin in defiance, and my fingers tingled to reach out and grip it the way I’d done at the hotel room. Or maybe it was that I ached to drop to my knees right there on the pavement and let him take me by the throat.

He loved giving over to me, but he loved that I fought him for it. That I took what I wanted. That I made him feel like he was a worthy fight.

Because he had been.

And he still was.

I just needed him to open his eyes and see that.

There was no point in standing there longer though, so I turned and made my way back toward the door. As I opened it, I realized that I didn’t hear his car door slam or an engine start. I gave in after a beat and glanced behind me, and I only just caught a glimpse of his wheel disappearing back around the side of the building. Something like victory flared to life in my chest.

I hadn’t won the war, but one battle was down.

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