Page 13 of Pucking Matt
I stare at her, wondering why the hell she needs to keep tabs on me. Yeah, we fuck, but that doesn't mean we're on each other's schedules.
“I told you to stop coming in here,” I say, my voice flat.
Her face drops, and I shake my head, annoyed. Then I realize that my sentence matches Amber's words from the coffee shop. Shit, am I Amber right now, and Michelle is me? Michelle really doesn't take a fucking hint. I swear she never hears me. I don'tknow how many times I have to tell the girl to be fucking done with me. Shit, is she messing with me like how I'm messing with Amber?
The thought makes me uncomfortable. I blurt out, “Are you fucking with me?”
“What?” she asks, bouncing her boobs as she shrugs. It's a move that might've worked on me before, but now it just irritates me. “What do you mean?”
“I told you I'm not fucking talking to you until you take down that video.”
“That's why I'm here. The people want more.” She scowls at me like I'm supposed to be turned on by that. Frankly, I don't have time for this shit.
“Okay.” I turn and skate away, done with this conversation.
“That was a joke! Matt, I'm just kidding.”
I stop, turning back to her. My patience is wearing thin. “I'm a little fucking busy right now if you can't see.”
“Okay.” She nods, finally seeming to get it. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you'll be there on Friday.”
“Yeah.” I shrug and skate off. Why the fuck would I skip out on a party?
As I rejoin Harvey and Crew, they're looking at me expectantly.
“Everything all good?” Crew asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
I nod, not wanting to get into it.
Harvey, never one to let things go, pipes up. “Are you still fucking her?”
I shake my head at his question. “What do you think?”
They laugh, and I feel some of the tension leave my body. This is why I like these guys. They accept things for what they are.
Harvey changes the subject, thankfully. “Was she talking about the party this weekend?”
I nod, already thinking about how I can use the party to my advantage. Maybe scout out some new chicks, blow off some steam.
“Do you think Grind Stone girl would come?” Harvey asks, and I feel a weird twinge.
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I don't fucking care.” All I care about right now is working on trying to steal the puck away from Crew Nixon. How the fuck is this guy that good?
“Come on,” I demand, pushing thoughts of Amber and Michelle and parties out of my mind. “Again!”
We dive back into our game, the sound of skates on ice and sticks hitting pucks filling the air. This is what I need – the physical exertion, the mental challenge. It's the only thing that makes sense sometimes.
Hours pass, and by the time we finally call it quits, I'm drenched in sweat, my muscles aching in that satisfying way that tells me I've pushed myself to the limit. As we're heading to the locker room, Coach stops me.
“Pearson,” he calls, his voice gruff. “A word.”
I nod to Harvey and Crew to go on without me, then skate over to Coach. His face is unreadable, which usually means I'm in for it.
“What's up, Coach?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. “If this is about that hit on Johnson, he totally had it coming.”
Coach doesn't crack a smile. “It's not about Johnson. I’m glad to see you actually care about improving.”
I blink, caught off guard. He can be a dick, so this is new. “Yeah.”
