Chapter 27
27
Molly
I grip the edge of my seat, feigning interest in the game. If anyone were looking, they’d probably ask what’s wrong since my knuckles are white from the pressure.
Luckily for me, Josie and Cassidy are way too interested in watching what their men are doing to have any idea I’m currently in the middle of having an existential crisis.
I can’t even blame the game for my stress because, let’s be real, it has nothing to do with it. My tension has nothing to do with the scoreboard or how the guys play. It doesn’t even have to do with the fact that Dane just finally got out of the penalty box. Nope. Not at all.
“You okay over there?” Cassidy’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Damn. Now, I have to play it cool because I don’t want the girls to know what my problem is.
My problem is Hudson. Obviously. Or better yet, the fact that I can’t stop watching him.
He really is the bane of my existence and the reason for this ridiculous bet I’ve trapped myself in.
I grit my teeth together as my eyes track him on the ice. I tell myself it’s not because I want to. It’s just because I’m hoping for him to mess up. Like trip over his skate or send the puck sailing into his own goal.
Something I can mentally frame as proof he isn’t perfect.
I would live for the moment when he does.
But I’m full of shit.
Absolutely pathetically full of shit.
Because deep down, I know that’s not why I’m watching.
I can’t tear my eyes away from him because he is perfect.
Obnoxiously so.
The way he moves with such stupid, effortless grace. It’s infuriating.
How he commands the ice—like he belongs there and owns it—is annoying as hell.
A ridiculous thought flies through my head. How many women here are undressing him? Not me, of course. Never me.
Someone needs to put me out of my misery because I really shouldn’t be watching him like a pathetic schoolgirl with a crush on her bully . . . except for some reason, I feel like maybe I’m the bully in this situation.
He’s the good-natured, hot jock. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before. He ends up with the quirky artist with a heart of gold, which is not me.
Also, why am I thinking about this?
Oh, yeah, I know, because Hudson is the kind of guy who makes it impossible not to notice him, even when you really, really want to ignore him. So, yeah, now I’m sitting daydreaming about him. Great. Just great.
What. The. Fuck.
No.
He’s none of these things.
I hate him.
What is wrong with me? A lot, that’s what. Because even in my own inner monologue, the person who should be the villain—is the good one.
No. I need to snap out of this. He’s insufferable. Obnoxious. Infuriating.
Then why are you still staring at him?
Nope. I’m not gawking. I’m taunting. Yeah, that’s it.
The damn stupid bet.
I agreed to be on my best behavior, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on him.
This is a loophole I can live in. I won’t break the rules, but I can bend the hell out of them.
Maybe I can’t argue with him in public, but I can goad him.
Hudson skates past the bench, his focus seemingly on the puck as the Saints set up for a power play. He doesn’t even glance my way, but as he coasts by, his glove comes up just enough for me to catch it.
My jaw drops.
No. That’s not what I think it is. It’s hard to tell because of the thickness of the glove, but it looks like one of his fingers is sticking up more than the others.
Oh, he wouldn’t. Except, of course, he would.
That has got to be his middle finger.
The bastard just discreetly gave me the middle finger.
I blink, caught between shock and admiration for how brazen he is.
If only I had thought of that. Sure, he probably wouldn’t see it because he’s supposed to be playing, but obviously, since he just did it to me, maybe he would have.
Nope. You’re better than cheap moves like that.
Anyway, this might mean I win. Someone had to have seen it. I whip my head toward where Dane is skating. Surely, he saw that, right?
I can’t catch a break. Unlike Hudson, he’s too engrossed in the game.
I turn my head to Josie. Maybe she saw it. She can vouch for me.
No luck there either.
She’s watching my brother like the lovesick fool she is, totally oblivious.
Cassidy?
Unless the picture she’s currently taking is of Hudson, which it’s not, she doesn’t have the evidence I need.
I’m alone in my outrage, which makes it burn hotter. I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms.
The nerve. The audacity.
The pure, unfiltered chaos this man brings into my life with every breath he takes.
He’s totally going to find a way to be smug about this later.
The worst part is I have to bite my tongue when he does. The bet has officially become the most infuriating thing I’ve ever agreed to.
I will not be the one to lose the bet.
The man is diabolical.
He knew exactly what he was doing, and I can practically feel him smirking through the glass.
By the time the Saints win in overtime, I’m about ready to explode. The moment the buzzer sounds, I slip past the throng of celebrating fans and head for the hallway near the locker rooms.
I need air. Not that stale arena air full of sweat and melted ice, but air where Hudson isn’t occupying my thoughts like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave.
Since the guys aren’t out yet, I pace back and forth, my heels clicking against the floor. Despite the door being closed, I can still hear the muffled cheers of the team inside.
Hopefully, they aren’t in there too long. I’d like to speak with my brother and find a way to pull Hudson aside and whisper-shout at him.
Okay, mostly yell. The whisper part is negotiable.
After five minutes, the door swings open, and Hudson appears, his hair damp and his black thermal untucked as he laughs. He’s with Mason and hasn’t spotted me yet.
The sight of him—relaxed, cocky, like he doesn’t have a care in the world—only stokes the fire inside me.
After he finishes chuckling at whatever Mason said, he tilts his head up and notices me. Instantly, his lips spread into a smirk.
Oh, there it is. The smirk that makes me want to punch him and . . . do other things I refuse to acknowledge. Won’t go there.
While I know he’s not surprised to see me here because I work for Dane, he knows he’s the reason I’m here tonight. His antics.
“Molly,” he drawls, stopping in his place. “To what do I owe the honor?”
His tone is pure mischief, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to throw anything at him.
And there it is. That smug grin that makes my blood boil.
He knows why I’m here, and the worst part is that he’s enjoying this. He lives for moments like this—to push, to bait, to see how far he can go before I snap.
I’m about to answer with something biting, something that will wipe that smirk off his face, when Dane strolls out of the locker room behind him, grinning like he’s on top of the world.
“You coming out tonight?” Dane asks, his excitement so palpable it’s hard not to smile back.
“You’re going out? Willingly?” I tease, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Yeah.”
I reach out, pressing my palm to his forehead like I’m checking for a fever. “Who are you, and what did you do to my brother?”
“It’s called love, Molly.” I don’t even need to look at Hudson to know he’s enjoying this.
Dane snaps his gaze to Hudson, his brow arching. “Careful, Hudson. That could be construed as sarcasm.”
Hudson lifts his hands in mock surrender, his grin never wavering. “Nothing sarcastic here. You’re in love, and when someone’s in love, they change.”
I can feel the words bubbling up inside me—sharp, sarcastic comebacks just begging to be unleashed. But I promised. I promised to play nice, and the effort of holding it in is physically painful. My teeth sink into my cheek to keep them in.
Hudson, of course, notices. He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. He knows exactly what I’m doing and why, and the smug satisfaction in his eyes is almost unbearable.
He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe, his lips twitching as if he’s waiting for me to crack.
Dane looks back and forth between us, clearly missing the subtext but clocking the tension. “Looks like you guys are following through with the bet. I’m proud of you both.”
“Guess we’re just full of surprises. Right, Hudson?” I manage, my voice tight and my smile strained.
Dane laughs, clapping Hudson on the back. “Good.”
Watching Dane like this—light, happy, so completely different from the way he used to be—my anger dissipates.
This is what I’ve been hoping for, working for, this version of him.
I love it. It makes all the chaos and Hudson-related nonsense almost worth it. Almost.
Dane glances at me. “What’s it going to be? You coming?”
“I’ll catch up,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay even. “I need a minute.”
“Cool.” He gives me a quick hug before heading down the hall, his strides confident and carefree.
The second Dane disappears around the corner, I whirl on Hudson, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him into the hallway.
“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” I whisper-shout, my voice low but furious.
“I am cute,” he replies without hesitation. Annoying jerk .
I inhale deeply, trying to keep my composure. “You know what I mean.”
He scrunches his nose, tilting his head like he’s genuinely puzzled. “Do I? I kind of think I don’t.”
I step closer, narrowing my eyes as I whisper, “You flipped me off.”
His grin doesn’t falter for even a second. “Did I? Or were you just looking for reasons to be mad at me? Because it’s hard to flip someone off while wearing hockey gloves. You, of all people, should know how bulky they are. I think you’re making this up just to win the bet.”
“You’re such a—”
“Careful.” He leans down just enough to bring us eye to eye. “Wouldn’t want to break our little deal, would you? That’d be embarrassing.”
My jaw locks so hard it’s a miracle my teeth don’t crack. The worst part is he’s right. If I snap, I lose. And Hudson, the king of arrogance, would never let me live it down.
I glare at him, my whole body vibrating with restrained fury. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yet here you are,” he counters, stepping around me with infuriating ease. He gives me a cocky wink as he walks away, his voice trailing him. “See you at the bar, Hex.”
He whistles as he goes, like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
My fists clench at my sides, and I vow—right then and there—that I will win this bet if it’s the last thing I do. Hudson Wilde may have the upper hand tonight, but he has no idea who he’s dealing with.
He thinks he’s clever and untouchable, but this isn’t over. Not even close.