6. CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
6
Afew weeks later, I sit on the bench next to the Blizzard players, the game's energy pulsating through the arena as we play the Sacramento Hawks. The guys are so pumped and celebrating with each other after every goal, and I can't help but get caught up in their excitement.
"Nice shot, Carter!" I cheer as he skates by, giving me a grin and a nod of acknowledgment. Being close to the action like this, feeling the intensity of the game, is exhilarating.
We're in the lead, and the determination on the players' faces is evident. They're focused and driven to maintain their advantage.
Amidst the intensity, I catch glimpses of my father. His expression shifts from concentration to joy as the Blizzard gains ground.
Just as I'm fully engrossed in the game, a sudden tapping on the glass behind me breaks my focus.
Confused, I look over my shoulder and instantly freeze.
On the other side of the glass is Wells, who has a mischievous grin as he holds up another orange Post-it note with his phone number in his palm.
What. The. Hell?
My heart skips a beat, a mixture of surprise and annoyance flooding me. I had blocked him on social media for a reason, hoping to avoid any further encounters like this.
Yet here he is, finding another way to reach out.
I shoot him a quizzical look, mouthing what are you doing here?”
His grin widens, and he gestures for me to come outside the benches. I immediately shake my head, indicating that I'm not interested, but he persists, holding the note there, and it’s only seconds before we’re discovered.
“What the hell?”
I follow Charles’s voice, speaking the same inner monologue as me, and find the immediate glower plastered on his face toward Wells.
Meanwhile, he hasn’t removed his gaze from me. His muscular frame is evident beneath his black New Brunswick Wolverines tee, symbolizing his team’s allegiance. His cap, worn backward, adds a touch of laid-back style to his overall demeanor, contrasting with the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere of the game.
And I’m shook as all hell.
“Rory.” I cut my immediate glower to Charles because he will not speak to me like that. “What's Wells doing here?" he asks, his tone laced with suspicion.
I shrug, trying to play it off casually. "No idea. Maybe he’s lost."
I know he is here for me despite my blocking and indicating that I want nothing to do with him.
For my father’s sake.
Meanwhile, I would play this scenario out all day if I had it my way. Wells is too damn sexy not to have fun with, and I’ve always found my way into trouble.
"Did you invite him or something?"
“Why would I invite him?”
He pins me with a glare of his own and steers his attention back to Wells, who has finally given him the time of day.
And then Wells waves at him.
“This motherfuck—”
“Gagnon, get on the ice,” my father yells behind us. “We don’t have time for this.”
"He's probably spying on us," Marshall suggests, earning nods of agreement from the others. “Simple asshole.”
Amazing.
Wells has managed to stir up chaos without stepping onto the ice. The fact that the Blizzard teammates are getting involved only adds to the tension brewing behind the bench.
“Focus,” my father leers. “Ignore him.”
I send Wells a pleading look to get out, which he quickly picks up on and points at his number.
I shake my head, and he perks up a brow.
He’s not leaving until I write it down.
Plucking my phone out, I feel the immediate glower of the Blizzard players on me.
“What are you doing?” Marshall barks out, approaching my side, but I stop him when I snap my head over.
“Do you want him to leave?” I clip out. “Because that’s what I’m doing.”
“Don’t call him Rory,” he warns me as if he has any right. “This is so not going to happen. Charles isn’t—”
“I don’t give a shit what Charles wants.”
“Then how about James?” He lifts a knowing brow because they all know. They all know because James bragged about it.
My jaw ticks, and I try my best to keep my badass bitch face on, but mentioning James was crossing a line.
For several reasons.
“What about him?” I asked, daring him to mention it out loud so that my father could practically hear him if he said it loud enough. “Why would James care?”
Marshall smirks and licks at his bottom lip. “You know who you belong to, Sellers. And, as long as your daddy is the coach, it will stay that way.”
"What's going on here?" my father demands, his tone firm, and it slices through my calmness and makes me jolt in response.
Meanwhile, Wells is getting a front-row seat to the chaos he is still ensuing.
“Rory is tryin’ to get rid of Wells,” Marshall replies as my dad approaches us.
My God, why is this bench area so small?
“Hurry up,” Dad clips, boring daggers into Wells’s head. “I want him gone.” Then he looks at Marshall. “And I would like you to focus on the damn game, not making googly eyes at Judson Wells.”
He heeds my father's words and turns his attention back to the ice. However, the tension lingers, fueled by Wells’ unexpected intrusion and the unresolved questions surrounding his motives.
To everyone but me.
Despite the chaos around me, I put Wells's number in my phone, thinking it might appease him and make him leave.
But as I glance up, he's still there, his cell phone in hand, waiting for me to text him as he smiles.
I can't believe he went to these lengths to see me. I thought his team was in Colorado, but Wells is here in New York, and I am still determining how unless I got the games wrong.
RORY: Why are you here?
WELLS: You blocked me.
RORY: For good reason. Are you mad?
WELLS: About you, Snowflake. I can’t get you out of my head.
No.
No. No.
I look up from my phone, and Wells is staring at me. He is studying my expression, and I need him to leave.
For several reasons.
RORY: You need to go.
WELLS: Are you going to block my number the moment I do?
RORY: No. Because you’ll come right back here, won’t you?
WELLS: I love how well you know me already.
He rises from his seat, towering over me where his cock is level with my face, even though it’s two feet away, but I still blush as I gaze up at him.
His lips coil into a smirk before he finally waltzes off and starts up the steps toward the exit, I hope.
But then my phone buzzes again.
WELLS: Promise me you won’t block me.
RORY: You’re really waving red flags all around here, aren’t you?
WELLS: A man has to get your attention somehow.
RORY: Did it need to be in front of your rival team and my father?
WELLS: I’m not afraid of them.
RORY: Well, you should be of my father. He lost his shit the last time you came around me.
WELLS: He’ll love me.
WELLS: Well, once he admits that my team is superior to him.
RORY: I doubt that will ever happen.
WELLS: You already realized it.
RORY: I might have already chosen to go against my better judgment; however, it doesn’t take away the fact that our continuing to be together is a big no-no.
WELLS: Why?
WELLS: Are you gonna pull a spy mission and use me for your father’s crazy ventures?
RORY: Like?
WELLS: Learning our plays and asking me evasive questions that could ruin my team- or reputation.
RORY: No.
WELLS: Then we’re good. Feel free to use me for anything else.
RORY: I’m not going to use you.
WELLS: I really wish you would. The last time you did, I had the best sex of my life.
RORY: Why do I think that’s a load of bullshit?
WELLS: I don't know. Why do you?
“Stop texting him, Rory,” Marshall chides. I didn’t realize he had crept closer.
I’ve been around hockey dudes all my life, but there’s something about the guys on the Blizzard that is next-level cocky.
The Montreal Blizzard is not the best team in the NHL, but they aren’t the worst. My father built this team back from nothing, and it took years. Because of his efforts, the fan base has increased incrementally.
However, once these morons started winning games and I continued to come by to support Dad in his career, they tried to get a stronghold on me like I was their team mascot or something.
“Mind your own business, Marshall,” I return flatly, almost bored. “I’ve almost got him out of the building.”
“James is coming in.”
Shit.
Glancing up, James Dorsey steps off the ice in all his boy-next-door glory.
He’s a problem.
A mistake I made.
We got drunk, slept together, and he proceeded to try to hold it over my head.
It wasn’t until I shot back how I would rat him out to my dad that he quickly quieted that down.
However, it doesn’t stop him from trying to cock-block me anytime he sees another man around.
Our eyes connect as if he already knows who I’m speaking to. Judging by how his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, he does.
"What's going on?" James demands, his voice laced with an edge I know too well.
I plaster a fake smile, trying to downplay the situation because he can kick rocks. "Just catching up with a friend.”
"Friend, huh?" James raises an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. "Didn't know you were into the stalker type."
I shoot him a warning look, silently urging him to back off. "He's not a stalker. And it's none of your business, James. If it were, I’d put a note in your locker to make you aware of it. However, my life is off-limits to you and everyone on this team. The only person I answer to is my father. Your coach.”
His blue eyes tighten a little bit at that friendly reminder. And I’m not above playing the card continuously, either.
"It is when it involves someone sneaking around our game," James retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, since you are Coach’s daughter, you’re privy to information that doesn’t need to go into the wrong hands.”
“Don’t tell me that scares you,” I return tersely. “Or him, for that matter.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I’m terrified.”
I shoot James a glare that could melt steel. "Thanks for your input, James," I say through gritted teeth. “But, the last time I checked, we didn’t fuck with each other like that anymore.”
“We could’ve if you didn’t act like a baby about it.”
“Says the dude that spread it around the whole team like you needed your dick energy to get bigger. You’re a clown, James.”
His smile is evil, but he doesn’t lose his cool as quickly as Charles. “And you’re hopefully still tight.” He salutes me with two fingers. “He shows up again, and we have something planned for him.”
My cell phone buzzes in my hand, but I don’t break my gaze off James until he does.
This is going to get ugly.
This can’t happen.
WELLS: Tell James to stay away from you. I don’t like him.
RORY: That would make two of us.
RORY: Don’t pull this again. He’s already making threats.
WELLS: To you?
RORY: To you. Don’t mess your team up. This isn’t worth it. James is petty, and with Charles, you’ve already gotten a teammate with a broken leg. They’ll do something else.
WELLS: I’ll be on the lookout, Snowflake, if it makes you feel better. But they can only get away with so much on the ice.
RORY: They intimidate some of the refs, Killer. You don’t need to be on the wrong side of that.
WELLS: I know what they do. And we know how to work around it.
That doesn’t make me feel better, but I’m not his mother.
WELLS: I like you, Snowflake.
RORY: Really? I couldn’t tell.
WELLS: And I was hoping you could see me in Vegas.
RORY: Absolutely not.
WELLS: I'll fly you out if I win my next game.
RORY: You really want to destroy the Blizzard and give my father a stroke, don’t you?
RORY: We can’t do this.
WELLS: This has nothing to do with the Blizzard and everything to do with you.
WELLS: We’ll be discreet as fuck. No one is going to know.
I’m flattered that he came to see me; no matter how stupid, it meant something. Wells might not follow the rules—and I usually don’t either—but this is my dad’s career, and I don’t want to screw things up.
RORY: Someone will find out.
WELLS: How do you think I shop at Target? I wear a disguise.
RORY: And then what? How long do you expect us to do this?
WELLS: I’m only asking for two days.
On the outside, that doesn’t sound bad at all. But, again, we’ve already crossed several lines.
WELLS: I see you thinking about it.
I groan because he’s still here.
Weirdo.
RORY: Text me later. I need to focus on this game; they know I’m talking to you.
WELLS: Fair enough.
RORY: And leave.
WELLS: Only because you asked.
WELLS: Oh, and Rory?
RORY: What?
WELLS: You look really pretty.
Crap, I’m in trouble.