Page 38 of Married As Puck
“All’s fair,” I toss back, smirking.
Coach’s whistle pierces the air again. We circle back, sucking wind, hunched over our sticks.
“Again,” Coach barks. No break, no mercy. This is the rhythm I’m used to.
I shove my helmet back, sweat stinging my eyes, and for some reason I think of Collins and that stupid gala. I tighten my grip on the stick and shove forward again. Now’s not the time for distractions.
Practice was swell but the second I step into the locker room, I know the universe isn’t done messing with me because Jack is the first person I see.
He’s leaning against the wall with his signature smirk in place.
“Well, well,” he says, “The man of the year finally arrives.”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t start.”
He pushes off the wall, circling me like a predator. “Married, huh? Thought you’d never go that far. Guess even you figured a ring might distract people from what a mess you are.”
My fists curl, nails digging into my palms. “Say that again.”
He grins wider, eyes glittering with that devilish warmth. “I pity her. The poor girl has no idea what she’s getting into. You’ve probably already lied your way through half the engagement.”
It’s like a matchstick striking a matchbox, igniting a fire inside me. Heat floods my chest. I want to deck him. Right here, right now.
Coach’s whistle fills the air, breaking the tension between us. “Enough.” His voice booms, eyes scanning the locker room.
Then his gaze narrows in on me. “Pour some water on that hothead, Gray. Don’t test my patience today.”
I open my mouth, but the warning in his eyes kills whatever comeback I had.
Jack smirks, satisfied.
I’m left fuming and wondering why I’m always the one caught in the crosshairs. Jack is never dealt a blow, it’s always me.
I slam my locker shut harder than I mean to, ignoring the sting in my knuckles.
The semi-final lap of practice helps me blow off steam, at least for a while but when it’s over, I’m left with that familiar hollow feeling in my chest.
I dress in a hurry, eager to go back for the final lap. I grab my skates and pause. They look the same, but when I run my fingers along the inside, something feels off. The padding feels wrong, like it’s been messed with. I slide my foot in anyway, lacing up quickly, and the difference is as clear as day. It’s like standing on someone else’s feet.
“What the hell,” I mutter, tugging the laces loose. My pulse races because there’s no time. The final practice starts soon, and I can’t exactly waltz in late, complaining about my damn shoes. Options flood my head but none sound appealing. If I complain to the coach, he’ll think I’m making excuses.
I stare at the skates wondering who the hell is messing with my shit.
16
I rub my hands on the gold mermaid sequined dress I’m wearing whilst observing from the side of my eyes if anyone notices how nervous I am. My auburn hair is styled in a chignon bob for the night, drawing more attention to my dress.
“Breathe,” Cameron instructs. His hot breath tickles my ear making me shiver momentarily. “You look like you might pass out any minute.”
I exhale shakily. “I’m just not used to these kinds of places.”
He snickers, “That’s funny, coming from an event coordinator.”
“That’s different,” I whisper back, darting my eyes toward the line of photographers positioned at the entrance of the hall. “I set things up. I don’t star in them.”
“I don’t see the difference.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge there, like a quiet warning not to mess this up.
I roll my eyes. Standing beside Cameron in public feels like stepping onto a stage I never auditioned for. SomehowI’m regretting agreeing with Collins to attend this gala with Cameron, but our first public appearance couldn’t be delayed any longer than it has.
