Page 122 of Lucky Laces
“I’mnot interested in discussing Diana’s love life,” Tom mutters.
Kaitlyn’s nose wrinkles, but she takes Tom’s cue—a cue I’m thankful for—and focuses.“Should we talk about the Sierra’s top line then?”
I glance back at Huddy, who’s settled in next to Rhodes.
“Yes,” I say.“Let’s get to work.”
Forty
Hudson
“I hearyou’re fucking that sweet piece of ass who’s our coach.”
The locker room—that I’ve just walked through the door of because we have a game tonight and I need to, you know, get my gear on—falls silent at Pat’s asshole statement.
Yeah, getting on the plane yesterday morning hand-in-hand with Dee wasn’t exactly flying under the radar when it comes to Pat and his merry band of assholes knowing about us, but since we decided we’re not going to hide our relationship, them’s the breaks.
We’ll deal with whatever ridiculous press comes our way, ignore the typical hockey shit-giving (because relationship with Dee or not, my teammates would just find something else to give me shit about), and keep building what we’ve been building.
Because it’s new.
But even if it is new, it’s important.
And I can handle teasing and annoying news stories.
I just…
Well, in the time I’ve known him, I’ve done my best to not think about Pat, not under any circumstances.
Something that was a fucking mistake, if his smirk is any indication, the poison in his soul shining through his beady, snakelike gaze.
He thinks he’s found a weakness.
And he’s going to keep poking and prodding at it until we’re bleeding out on the floor.
I should have known better, should have kept a wary eye on him, found some way to keep him in line when it comes to Diana and my relationship.
Like blackmail.
Or punching him repeatedly until he sees reason.
Because he’s clearly delusional.
And needs to be punched.
Case in point?
He takes my annoyance and ramps it up to murderous rage with his next words.
“I bet Coach is a wildcat in the sack,” he drawls, smirking at me as his idiotic teenage bully like sidekicks, Kane and Duncan, cackle like the dumbasses they are.
“Shut the fuck up,” Cam growls.
Pat ignores him, meandering my way—and fuck me, but he’s within arm’s reach now and seriously testing my control.
Especially when his smirk grows and he leans in, poking me in the chest.“She’s so controlled.Fuck.”He groans and pumps his hips through the air, demonstrating exactly what he’d do to Dee.
Tomywoman.
