Page 127 of Slap Shot Scandal
Her smile, her smell, the way she moans my name when she comes.
How she’s all business—until she’s not. Sliding up and down my cock, her luscious tits bouncing against my chest.
“Yo, Steele! You skating today or what?” Ford arches a brow and I shake my head, digging into the ice.
Like I said, distracted.
I need to get my mind back on the game. But with everything that’s gone down, it’s difficult.
The fight at the party, Bennett getting benched.
The video everyone in the motherfucking universe saw.
The aftermath’s been the worst part.
I put my heart on the line—told Harbor I loved her. But after that night, she’s been distant.
I get it. Both our jobs are on the line.
But I hate living like this. Never knowing when I’ll see her again, if we’ll have a moment of alone time.
I’m ready to say screw it and own up to the relationship with Coach. But I’m pretty sure Harbor’s not on board with that plan.
So instead, I’m surviving on Facetime calls and solo hand jobs.
Not optimal.
“Steele!” Keller shouts across the ice, waving me over.
Bracing myself for a lecture about discipline, I skate in his direction. Keller and Prince are still talking, and Prince is waving his hands wildly, shaking his head. The man’s clearly drinking too much caffeine.
A few guys snicker as I pass by and agitation churns in my gut. I hate being off my game and that’s exactly how I feel right now.
I push my emotions down and unhook my helmet, running a hand through my sweaty hair.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“This is what’s up.” Prince holds his cell out to me and my stomach plummets like a rocket falling through the atmosphere.
It’s me and Harbor, the night of the party. I’m leaningin for a kiss, hand on her waist, and she has that just-fucked look.
Shit.
And the comments section? Fucking brutal.#PRPuckbunnyis trending right alongside#SteeleScandal. Every amateur sports blogger in America’s dissecting our body language, analyzing what this means. For me. For the team.
Forty-seven thousand views and climbing.
Harbor’s professional death, monetized by the algorithm.
My mouth goes dry.
It’s mid-morning. Harbor had to know this was out there.
As good as she is at her job, she must have.
Why didn’t she warn me?
“Care to explain?” Prince’s tone is low and menacing as he scowls at me.
