30. Don’t Poke The Fucking Bear Either
CARTER
What kind of celebration do we think Olivia will enjoy best when I score for her tonight? The obvious answer is a sneaky wink in her direction, but she chose me, so she has to know she chose flash. I do everything with flair, not in the shadows.
Except Olivia, for obvious reasons. I do her in the shadows. Though I like to think I do her with flair, as well…
Nabbing a loose puck, I fire it off the boards as I scan the seats behind the team bench, searching for Olivia. Her coat is draped over her seat, next to Cara’s, so I know they’re already here.
“Word on the street is you bought your girl a furnace.” Emmett hip checks me into the boards and steals the puck off me, twisting and hammering it off toward an unsuspecting Adam, whose blocker goes up just in time to deflect it from the net.
Garrett chokes on air. “Pardon? A furnace?”
“Her house was fucking freezing,” I mutter, pulling a puck from between his legs. I flip it onto the tip of my stick and Emmett whacks it off before I can show off.
“A brand-new furnace,” Garrett muses, rubbing his jaw with his gloved fingers. “Huh. We sure she’s not using you for your money?” He shuts up real fast when Emmett and I sandwich him between the two of us and the boards. “Okay, okay! I was joking!”
“Eh! Boys! Save it for the other team!”
My head lifts at Cara’s voice as I release Garrett, and I grin like a total loser when I meet Olivia’s entertained gaze.
I shove Emmett out of the way on our way to the bench, and hop over the boards, slapping my gloves against the plexiglass as Olivia makes her way down the aisle.
Her Vipers tee is skintight, showing off an inch of skin above the waist of those painted-on jeans, the little gem in her belly button peeking out when she adjusts her coat before sitting.
“Ah-ah-ah,” I tsk. “Gimme a spin, gorgeous.” I had this shirt waiting for her in the limo I sent to pick her up for the game. I know she knows I wanna see what’s on the back.
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of rosy pink. “Carter.”
I smile, twirling my finger in the air. Olivia rolls her eyes and holds her hands above her head—bag of popcorn in one, beer in the other—showing off the most spectacular backside.
I resist the urge to bite my knuckles, only because my gloves stink, but goddamn, that 87 and Beckett decorating her back are really doing something for me.
I press my visor against the glass. “I’m so hard right now.”
“Beckett!” Coach shakes my helmet. “Stop flirting with your girlfriend and get your ass back on the ice for warm-up!”
“Just telling her about the goal I’m gonna score her.”
All I want to do is show off for my girl and I know she loves it, even if she’s rolling her eyes at most of my ridiculous antics.
Three minutes into the second period, Garrett jumps on the ice a moment before me, grabbing the puck as it slices across the red line.
He calls my name as I leap over the boards, and I tap my stick on the ice three times to let him know I’m here.
The puck hits the curved blade of my stick without any effort from Garrett, his eyes bouncing between the net and the defenseman who’s about to get in his face.
“On your heels, Beckett!” Emmett hollers from my left, alerting me to the forward who’s hot on my ass.
I slam on the breaks and watch as the left-winger goes flying by me before he realizes I’m not with him anymore. In the second it takes him to twist back around, I spin by him, looking for my guys.
“All you!” Garrett shouts from the side of the net, ready for a rebound. “Stuff it in, baby!”
My left leg slides back as I wind up, and my stick hits the puck with a crack like lightning.
Silence hangs heavy in the arena, every fan holding their breath as I let that bad boy soar, and when it smacks off the crossbar with a ding so loud it echoes before falling down into the net, the entire arena explodes.
“Bar down, baby!” I shriek, throwing my arms above my head.
“Fucking snipe show, bud!” Emmett roars, tackling me into the boards.
I slip backward, falling to the ice as Garrett piles on top of us, followed by our defensemen. When I finally make it back to my feet, I scan the crowd for the only person I want to see.
Olivia’s on her feet, clapping and hollering with Cara. Her eyes find mine as I skate by the bench, bumping gloves with my teammates, and she flashes me a beam brighter than the red light that’s still flashing on top of the goalie net.
The cameras pan my way when I stop in front of her, and her eyes widen, smile evaporating, replaced by one of pure horror as she watches my stick rise in slow motion.
Don’t you dare , Olivia mouths.
But Cara’s jumping up and down, shaking Olivia’s shoulders, just daring me to do it.
So I do. I point my stick at her, bring my glove to my lips, and blow Olivia the biggest, loudest smooch I can muster, sending it out into the arena as the crowd goes nuts. Her cherry red face lights up the jumbotron for the second time in her life, because I’ll never learn my lesson.
I throw an arm up overhead, gesturing at the screen with my stick. “ That’s my fucking princess !” I did say I do everything with flare.
They replay my goal on the big screen three times as I lean on the boards and guzzle down some water, chatting with the guys.
When I line up at the red line for the face-off, I sneak another peek at Olivia.
She’s got her feet up on the glass, sunken halfway back in her seat, one hand covering too much of her outstandingly gorgeous face.
She narrows her eyes. They get extra squinty at the grin I flash her.
“ Fuck me . Can I have her?” Lucas Daley, centerman and assistant captain for Seattle, smirks at me as he glides in a small circle, stick across his hips.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“When you’re done with her.” He glances in Olivia’s direction. “Can I have her?”
My teeth clack when I slam them together. “I don’t plan on being done with her.”
His disbelieving snort has my neck cracking as it strains left to right. He’s trying to get me riled up and I can’t let that happen, especially with Olivia here.
“You’ve fucked her, now I’m waiting for you to do what you do best and chuck her.”
“Fuck off, Daley,” Emmett flicks out with disinterest.
Daley lifts an amused brow. “Or what? Your buddy here gonna knock me out?”
“If you don’t stop running your mouth?” I skate forward until my chest touches his. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
The ref pushes an arm between us. “All right, gentlemen. Enough of that. Let’s get this shit on the road.”
I take my place on the ice, shaking off the anger that’s tumbling off my shoulders in waves as I get ready for the face-off with Daley. The ref shoves his whistle between his lips and bends, the puck in his hand hovering over the blue dot.
“Jesus, fucking look at her, would you?”
With a sigh, the ref straightens, scrubbing a palm down his face. I barely register it out of the corner of my eye. I’m too focused on Daley’s gaze, which is glued to my girlfriend, who happens to be watching us while she pulls on her bottom lip.
“She’s a tiny, slutty little puck bunny, isn’t she? I’m gonna rip her in two.”
The growl that tears up my throat and snarls its way past my lips isn’t even human. Before I know what’s happening, my gloves and stick are on the ice, fists balled around the neck of Daley’s jersey, my face in his as I haul him close.
“Say one more fucking word about her and you’re gonna be spitting chiclets.” My pulse hammers in my ears, chest tightening as it swells with rage. I’m a volcano, teetering on the edge of eruption. Nobody will be able to stop me once I start.
A smug grin spreads across Daley’s face as he drops his stick and tosses his gloves.
“Keep it clean and quick,” the ref tells us on an exhale, clearing the space around us.
The atmosphere in the arena is crazed, not having had the chance to calm down from the goal, hyped up with the looming tussle. These fans go wild for fights and tonight is no different. They love watching Carter Beckett lose his shit on occasion, which is exactly what’s about to happen.
Dropping my grip on Daley’s jersey, I keep my fists up as we start spinning in a slow circle.
“Are you clean?” His gaze flicks to Olivia. “Don’t like to wrap it when I fuck a girl who looks like that. Wanna feel every inch of—”
My fist connects with his mouth, his head snapping backward, shutting him the hell up. He sputters, wiping the blood from his cracked lip before he chuckles.
“She looks terrified. Think she’s worried I’m gonna knock you on your ass, Beckett?”
His arm swings out, connecting with the edge of my shoulder when I dodge the punch. He backs away when I lunge for him, but I grab hold of his jersey and drag him right back.
“You’re still talking,” I spit, “but I’m not the one bleeding.”
Daley twists in my grasp when I swing at his face again, and I tug his jersey up and over his head, knocking his helmet off in the process.
I let my fist fly once more, cracking him in the nose.
Blood coats my knuckles and drips down his face, dotting the ice, and he dives for me, grabbing my jersey as the two of us go tumbling to the ice.
His fist flails, crashing against the corner of my mouth as my helmet pops off, and I ignore the sharp sting it brings as I roll on top of him.
My hair slaps against my forehead as I pull my arm back and send my fist flying forward, once, twice, three times.
“ Beckett ! Enough!” The ref skates toward us from the right, the linesmen flanking the left. “Up! Both of you! It’s over!”
Gripping Daley’s jersey, I yank his face to mine, chest heaving as I seethe out, “You won’t fucking touch her.”
I feel a hand on my back, and a second later Garrett’s hoisting me to my feet, pushing me down the rink. “Shit, that was fun to watch.”
Emmett hands me my gloves and stick. “Doesn’t look like Ollie had that much fun.”