Page 15 of Triple Power Play 3
“Yeah, thanks. I used it to wipe my dick after we fucked.”
I steal a breakaway, my second goal already in the bag and a third on the way. Carmichael is bearing down on me, a runaway freight train. His stick is useless—he’s only scored once all season. His only objective is to stop me, injuring me the ultimate payoff. His size is his strength, but it also makes him much slower than I am.
He’s almost on me, but I keep my focus on the goal, let Carmichael think I don’t see him. I know exactly what the big fucker is plotting. He’s not aiming to check me into the boards. Stopping this play is not enough—he needs to lay me out. Their only chance of winning is by impairing me or getting me ejected, but fuck them. I’ve got shit to prove.
On a side note, or funny coincidence, Carmichael plays Coach’s old position—enforcer for the New York Stars. It gives me an odd sense of projected gratification to blow this guy away.
Sweat drips down my neck, my thighs on fire. I’m still sore from yesterday’s practice, my punishment for stuffing my face with donuts and not going to the gym over the past few weeks. I don’t let it slow me down, though. I live for the burn, the ache. I crave the pain.
Just before the enforcer reaches me, flying like a bat out of hell, he leaps. I drop low and propel forward, the puck sliding underneath me.
His jersey brushes mine, his chest over my shoulders, and he crashes into the boards head-first. It’s a nasty hit, and I’m damn glad I’m not between him and that wall.
At my back, the over-muscled boulder falls to the ice. I boot the puck from my skate to my stick, never once losing control.
I pass to Grant. He takes it behind the net, and I get into position. He gets fancy with the extra moves—going left, right, and kicking up ice before he taps it to me, and I knock it in. It all happens so fast, the goalie doesn’t have time to react.
Arms raised in celebration, Grant jumps on me. “That was sick!”
“Ribs, motherfucker,” I laugh.
More bodies smash into me, one after another. We’re a pile of limbs and excitement, my hat trick putting us ahead by two, and it’s not even the third period.
After the celly, my gaze searches for my girl. She’s cheering a few rows above the bench. I point my stick at her, and she gives me the biggest, proudest smile. I live for that smile.
I spend the rest of the game teasing Ethan. He’s been on edge about my return, a mother hen. He needs some comic relief.
It’s the start of the last period, and I’m sitting on the bench. He cuffs my shoulder and bends down behind me. Their goalie is figuring us out, and Ethan wants me to shoot for goal number four.
His advice: “Go for the smallest hole.”
I’d be crazy to let this opportunity pass by. “I think that’s more your thing, Coach.” I wink.
He walks away from me real quick.
Another break in shifts, and I’m getting slammed with chirps and penalties.
He glowers at me over his shoulder, that perma-scowl firmly in place. “Pretend you’re deaf, like you do anytime I talk to you.”
I furrow my brows and cup my ear but can’t hide my smirk. “What? What’d you say?”
He grinds his teeth so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a molar. “If you get another penalty, I swear, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
My smirk stretches into a full-blown grin. “Is that because you can’t kill me while I’m awake?”
“It’s because I don’t wanna listen to your fucking mouth.”
Giddiness erupts in my gut. I love it when he’s pissed. I see why Aurora enjoys revving him up. He gets all growly, and a vein protrudes in his neck.
“So abusive, Coach. If you keep threatening me, I’ll be forced to stop sleeping with you.”
His face and ears flush a deep shade of red, and he skewers me with his signature death glare. If I wasn’t his favorite player and Aurora didn’t love me, he’d probably follow through with his threats. Right now, though, he’s speechless. I tend to have that effect on people.
“Don’t give me those smoldering eyes, big guy. You know what they do to me.”
Finally, the tiniest of smiles tugs at the corner of his lip. “Fucker, you’re going to get me fired.”
I place a hand over my heart. “If you go, I go.” I mean every word. I wouldn’t be here, sober, sitting on this bench, if it wasn’t for him, and I don’t plan on playing for anyone else.
