Page 8 of Pucking Knox
Time to play.
Chapter 4
She waits for me in the tunnel after practice, leaning against the wall like she owns it. Little rich girl playing with fire.
"Princess," I say, adjusting my gear bag. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We need to talk." She glances at my teammates filing past. "Privately."
I should walk away. Something in her eyes spells trouble – the dangerous kind that could wreck everything I've worked for. But I've never been good at walking away from trouble.
"Five minutes."
She follows me to the equipment room. It's small, cramped with spare gear and smelling like sweat and leather. I drop my bag and turn to face her, crossing my arms.
"Talk."
Instead of speaking, she pulls out her phone and hits play. The video quality isn't great, but it doesn't need to be. I watch myself throw that first punch outside Murphy's, the one that started it all.
Fuck.
"Where did you get that?"
"Does it matter?" She tucks the phone away carefully. "What matters is who else might see it. Scouts, for instance."
The threat hangs between us. My jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
"What the fuck."
"A deal." She steps closer, all false confidence and real desperation. "I keep this video private, and you pretend to date me."
I actually laugh. "What?"
"You heard me." Her chin lifts defiantly. "My father's campaign wants me to be the perfect daughter – no parties, no dating, no fun. I want to show them they can't control me."
"By blackmailing me?" I take a step toward her, satisfied when she backs up against the shelves. "Not very perfect daughter behavior, Princess."
"Neither is starting bar fights." She holds her ground despite the tremor in her voice. "Face it, Knox. We both have something to lose here."
She's right, and we both know it. That video could tank my draft prospects faster than any on-ice fight. Scouts already think I'm a liability – proof that I'm starting shit off-ice would confirm their worst fears.
That text from my scout, Wilson, stands out in my mind.
Wilson:That Providence fight didn't help your case. Keep your nose clean or you can kiss first round goodbye.
Perfect fucking timing.
I study Kennedy, trapped between me and the equipment shelves. She's trying so hard to look tough, but I can see the pulse racing in her throat. Can smell that sweet perfume she always wears.
"Let's say I agree." I brace one hand on the shelf beside her head, caging her in. "What exactly would this 'pretend dating' entail?"
"The usual." Her voice only shakes a little. "Public appearances. Some PDA. Enough to give my father's campaign a heart attack without actually—"
"Without actually…fucking?" I finish for her, enjoying how she flushes. "What happened to…fucking whoever you want, wherever you want, whenever you want?"
"That's not—" She swallows hard. "That still stands."
I shake my head. "Not fucking happening. Counter-offer." I lean closer, until my lips nearly brush her ear. "I'll play boyfriend for your little rebellion. But if we're doing this, we're doing it my way."
