Page 49 of Wicked Minds
“Ah, already a high-maintenance professional hockey player. What, their perks aren’t good enough? Only guaranteeing four-star accommodations on road trips? Oh, no, is the car they offer you a basic sedan? None of the bells and whistles fancy-pants Logan Astor is accustomed to?”
“Damn, woman, that’s cold.” He can barely get the words out from laughing so hard. “Nah, nothing so non-negotiable as that. Just not sure that the team is the right fit for me. Holding out for something more suitable.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get it.”
“I plan on it, Shortcake. I plan on it.”
16
RILEY
Tara
The Depot tonight? Ruthless is fighting Bruiser, and it’s set to be one hell of a match.
Or are we still in denial when it comes to Ruthless and his merry band of brothers?
My initial response is a middle finger emoji while I debate my actual answer. The day has just turned to dusk and now night, I’ve been thinking more and more about Royce’s fight. After reading the same page three times and not taking in a single word, I gave up studying a half hour ago.
I’d messaged him Saturday morning to check that his hand was okay, and the photo he sent me showed his knuckles looking as good as new. I wasn’t sure what to say after that, and with Royce not being much of a talker, nothing else was said. Only that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of him.
He mentioned what a tough fight this would be, and I’m woman enough to admit that I’m worried for him. Which has me wanting to say yes to Tara’s offer. Does that make me an idiot?For not wanting to stay away? To put heaps of distance between us?
Except, he was right the other night when he said we keep getting pulled into one another’s orbit. The thing is… I kinda want to be dragged into his orbit. Royce is such a mystery. Is it so bad that I want to unravel him?
I sense that there is so much more to Royce than meets the eye. Already, he’s proven to be a dichotomy. At first, he’s abrupt and cold. His large, muscular build makes him instantly intimidating, and his stern glare does nothing to put you at ease. Yet underneath all that posturing is a sensitive soul. One that’s taken a beating. One that resonates with mine, and perhaps that’s why I can’t stay away. Why neither of us can seem to resist the lure of the other?
However, it’s not just Royce I’d be seeing tonight if I went…
Having already checked the school’s website earlier, I know Logan doesn’t have a game tonight. Meaning he’ll definitely be there, and am I ready to see him after the stunt he pulled at last night's game? He asked me not to close my heart off to him, and after he stood up for me with Whitney and Grayson, I feel like I should give him a shot. Not let him all the way in. It’s too early for that, but I could at least crack open a window for him.
That only leaves devil number three. The worst of them all. Grayson. What are the chances he’d be there tonight, seeing as things are strained between him and the guys? On the other hand, I’m done hiding from Grayson Van Doren. Done being his whipping girl. He’s pitching for a fight, and honestly, after the shit he pulled over winter break, I’m more than ready to give it to him.
Between him and my mom, I have so much pent-up anger, and I’m sick of bottling it all up. Sick of swallowing it down. I’m ready to breathe fucking fire, and if Grayson wants to be the one in the blast zone, then by all means, he can come and get it.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text that solidifies my decision.
Tara
*puppy dog eyes emoji*
Me
Yes! Let’s go!
Tara
Yay! Pick you up at 8. Wear something slutty.
Excited at the prospect of getting to see Royce in his element again, I head to my bedroom to find something to wear. Observing him in the ring last time had been exhilarating. I hadn’t thought I’d enjoy watching men beat on one another, the violence and the aggression, but Royce made an art out of it. Just like when I watch one of Logan’s hockey games, it’s impossible to tear my eyes away from the action.
It takes me until Tara pulls up outside to pick an outfit and get dressed, and the dense thud of heavy rock music assaults my ears as we step into The Depot.
Tara’s wearing a slinky black bodycon dress with bits cut out along her ribs and over her hips, her black hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Meanwhile, I went with a black leather mini-skirt and a maroon tube top. My makeup is on the heavy side, with dark red lips and smokey eyes, and my auburn hair falls around my shoulders in loose waves.
The bouncer gives Tara a chin tilt as we walk past but gives none of the snark Rome usually doles out, and the bustle of the warehouse washes over us as we step inside. Just like always, The Depot is packed. My eyes rake over the raw steel walls andexposed pipework as the mingling aroma of spilled beer and sweat assaults my nostrils before drawing my focus to the boxing ring in the heart of the warehouse, where a fight is currently underway. The nearby crowd shouts their encouragement, but it mustn’t be popular contestants as most people are talking in small groups or huddled around the bar, and we have to squeeze through the throng to get to the front.
Xander, Tara’s brother, spots us immediately. I suspect the bouncer gave him a heads-up that his sister was here. Handing a customer a beer at the far side, he ignores everyone else as he makes a beeline for us, smiling at his sister before his gaze shifts to me.
