Page 81 of Off-Ice Misconduct
It’s worse than nothing. His silence is colder than the damn ice under my skates.
I know we gotta be secret and shit, but Christ, it’s messing with me. I feeloff.Off kilter. Off fucking balance. Like I’m skating with one blade shorter than the other. Rationalizing itdoesn’t help, and my insides feel like I swallowed too much Pepto Bismol.
Fuck.
This.This is why I don’t get attached. Love leaves me.
My eyes drift away from play—trust me, this play is so slow it’ll be fine for a second—and to Luke. He’s not smiling, exactly, but his face has softened. He’s talking to one of the guys. Easy body language like he’s totally fine.
What the actual fuck?
I can’t deal with whatever bullshit this is right now. I’ve got a team to—whoa. There goes the puck. I spent so much time staring at Luke, I’ve turned into the pylon. Shit. This guy’s gotta be new. He’s way too fast to play for Portland. He hammers that puck in the net. Yeah, that one’s on me.
Coach’s scorching glare nearly singes my fucking hair off when I hit the bench.
“Want me to get you a lounger, McKinnon, so you’re comfortable while you’re watching the game the rest of us are playing?”
Dick. But fair.
And Luke? Still nothing. His stone grill is back, and this time I know I’m not wrong. He’s studiously avoiding me. Luke doesn’t even go this far to avoid me in class. Something’s up.
The storm inside me explodes during my next shift on the ice. The next time I’m out there, I pick a fight with Rookie the Rocket. The guy’s fast, and his stick slashes my shins with satisfying accuracy.
And you know what Luke does? Yeah, nothing.
Coach is getting pretty sick of me, but I manage to score a couple of goals, so he resists the growing urge to bench me.
The rest of the game is like that, and none of my fury abates by the time I’m stripping off my gear in the locker room. I’m stillvibrating with rage, confusion, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.
I leave my stinky-ass equipment for the crew and wrap a towel around my waist. The torn boxers stare me in the face.
Why am I doing this?
Because I got obsessed, that’s why. He made me feel things I didn’t plan for. Maybe I thought he was into me more than he is, and my ego’s busted. I hate all this shit. I need bed and a beer, so I can pretend I don’t feel like I’m coming apart.
Ugh, but my bed is with him.
After the world’s best shower, I study the torn boxer shorts again. They’re daring me. It’s such a fucking stupid thing. They were supposed to make me feel like he was with me. Right now, they don’t.
I miss those rough hands of his on me, his lips sucking marks over my body, hispresence.The ache in my ass this morning had me cursing his name, but at least I felt him.
That’s what I need. Luke coursing through every fiber of me.
“The fuck are you wearing, Ace?” Shep snorts. “Did your underwear lose a knife fight?”
“Uh, must have ripped during the game,” I lie.
“I’ve got extras. You want a clean pair?”
Shit.
Luke was pretty damn clear about only taking them off to shower. And I want to please him, earn his praise.
“Nah, I’m good.”
He frowns. “Why you bein’ weird?”
“I’m not, okay? Just leave it.”
