Page 10 of Slap Shot Scandal
No one should be looking at her like that, anyway. Least of all me, as the captain. She works for the team now.
“Oh, Harbor now, is it? First name basis already, Cap?” Bennett’s smirk turns into a full-fledged grin and my fists automatically ball, ready to punch that smug look off his face.
Instead, I roll my shoulders back, shooting Bennett a cold glare even as heat creeps up my neck.
“It’s her name, isn’t it? And why is it always sex with you? Are you evernotthinking about getting into someone’s panties?” I ask.
“Typically, no. Unless we’re talking about Prissy. I’m zero percent interested in her panties.”
Prissy—short for Priscilla—is our gold-digging stepmom. She swooped in approximately three minutes after our mother passed away when we were thirteen and has tormented us ever since. We collectively loathe her.
I’ve always been tight with my brothers, but after Mom died and Prissy moved in, our bond grew stronger than ever. Three against one, and Prissy loses every single time. That really pisses her off.
Leaving for college felt like more of an escape—at least for me. As the “oldest” and most responsible triplet, I shouldered a lot of the emotional burden after our mom died. Getting away from the haunting memories, the deep freeze that was our home, was ultimately a relief.
Judging by our father’s lack of communication, it doesn’t seem like our dad misses us much. Sure, we all get the occasional text, the obligatory birthday call, but that’s it. The bare minimum of parenting from our only remaining parent.
Whatever.
I’m a grown man now. I don’t need his validation, love, or approval.
“The only man interested in Prissy’s panties is our father, I can assure you.” Callum frowns, crashing down onto my couch and kicking out his long, muscular legs.
It’s not that Prissy’s an unattractive woman. But her attitude’s a real turn-off. The only person Prissy loves is Prissy. And maybe—maybe—our dad. Verdict’s still out on that one.
More likely she’s infatuated with his large bank account and celebrity, being a retired pro hockey player.
“Did anyone tell Dad about the move?” Callum raises his eyes to mine, then Bennett’s.
I shrug. “No. Figured we’re under a gag order.”
“Right. Prince told us not to talk.” Bennett’s brows scrunch together, like he’s thinking hard.
“I’m sure we could tell Dad. It’s not like he’s going to talk to the press or anything,” Callum says.
“But what about Little Miss Priss? She’s got a big ass mouth.” Bennett makes a lewd gesture and my stomach turns.
“Bro. I don’t even want to think about Prissy’s mouth, okay? You guys want something to drink?” I grab a glass from a lacquered cabinet above the built-in bar.
Normally, I’m not a drinker. Especially during the season. But today I’m making an exception. Given it’s off-season and I’m in the middle of a personal and professional crisis.
The strong, smoky scent of bourbon wafts up from the bottle as I pour.
“Here you go, boys.” I hand Callum and Bennett their drinks, then take a long, slow sip of mine. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat, but at least I’m distracted from the throbbing in my temple.
“You think Coach actually threw the playoffs, Wes?” Callum peers at me over the rim of his glass, the city lights glowing around his hulking outline.
I huff out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’d really love to say ‘no.’ But the more I play back our games, the less sure I am. Of everything.”
Understatement of the fucking year.
I’ve been reeling since this morning, ever since I bumped into Harbor in the hallway. My face burns remembering the way she gazed up at me through those long, dark lashes, the light pink flush of her cheeks as she apologized for mowing me down.
Before I knew who she was or heard her plans for the PR nightmare she was about to unleash on my team.
Bennett scrapes a hand over his face and crashes down next to Callum on the couch.
“Damn, this sucks. I can’t believe Coach would do us like that.” He gazes blankly across the room.
