Page 18 of Pucking Knox
"Holy shit," she says, taking in my appearance. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing." I head straight for the shower. "Just... Knox being Knox."
"Uh huh." She follows me to the bathroom. "And those hickeys on your neck are nothing too?"
I slap a hand over my throat. "He didn't..."
"Oh, he did." She leans against the doorframe. "Several times. Want to talk about it?"
"Nothing to talk about."
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you're falling hard for your fake boyfriend."
"I'm not—" The denial sticks in my throat.
"Keep telling yourself that." She softens slightly. "But be careful, okay? Knox isn't exactly known for his emotional availability. Maddie kind of let me in on the scoop."
I roll my eyes as I turn my back to her. "Good thing I don't want his emotions then."
She leaves me to shower, but her words follow me into sleep. Or would, if I could sleep. Instead I lie awake, remembering every touch, every kiss, every growled word.
Next time you want to play with fire...
I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the lingering ache. This is fine. It's just attraction. Biology. Perfectly normal to be affected by someone who looks like him, kisses like him, touches like him.
I'm not falling for Knox Thompson.
I'm not.
But when I finally drift off, I dream of blood on ice and dangerous smiles and hands that know exactly how to take me apart.
Make sure you're ready to get burned.
Too late. I'm already on fire.
Chapter 8
The puck slams into the net with enough force to rattle the posts.
"Jesus, Thompson." Coach Evans whistles. "Save some for the game."
I've been running drills since five AM, working out whatever this restless energy is. Definitely not thinking about Kennedy in my lap last night. Or how she felt under my hands. Or the way she ran when things were escalating. I swear to God that’s what she wanted last time, but things change fast.
"Somebody's fired up." Ace skates up beside me, spraying ice. "My sister keeping you up all night?"
My stick creaks in my grip. "Don't start."
"Just saying." He takes a shot, casual as can be. "Dad's not happy about you two."
"Yeah?" I line up another puck. "Rich politician doesn't approve of the working-class enforcer? Shocking."
"It's not about class." But we both know that's bullshit. "He's worried about your reputation."
The puck hits the crossbar with a crack. "My reputation."
"The fighting. The attitude. Not exactly campaign-friendly material." Ace's voice turns serious. "Just be careful with her, okay? Dad can make things difficult when he wants to."
If he only knew.
