Chapter 8
EIGHT
HENDRIX
This arena has always looked immaculate from the ice, but as I peel off another piece of gum from the bottom side of the seat and try not to gag, it’s hitting me how fucking gross spectators are.
I mean, who the hell would be too lazy to walk their ass to the closest trash can and throw their gum away?
NEU fans, apparently.
Clark stays on the other side of the arena.
I guess maybe he isn’t as stupid as I thought.
I was just glad to see his ass being punished, too, because he had run his mouth about Isla, and if Cade knew exactly what he’d said, he’d probably be doing a lot grosser shit than cleaning the floors and getting gum off of seats.
Isla stays as far away as she can too. And the closer Clark gets to her, the more fucking mad I get. I grind my back teeth together, glaring as he snakes his way just a few seats away from where she’s kneeling.
“Easy, killer,” Margo teases, and I didn’t even realize how close she’d gotten. “You look like a creep, you know. Staring that way.”
My eyes cut to hers, narrowing. “Does it look like I give a fuck?” I mutter, and when I hear voices, I look back their way to see Clark actually fucking talking to her.
“I don’t get it,” Margo says, scrubbing the floor. “All of you idiots practically fall over yourselves for her. Why?”
I turn my attention to Margo, someone I’ve known for a few years now.
The number of poor kids, like us, who had shitty childhoods and actually make it to play college sports is pretty low.
And since both of us only made it as far as we have because of Brody O’Brien’s One Wish foundation, we’ve been around each other at a few events.
Her story is sad and fucked up, and that’s why she’s a raging bitch. Childhood trauma will do that to you though. But in this situation, I’ll ride with Isla Hardy till the wheels fall off.
“I’m serious, Hunt,” she nags me again. “And don’t say talent because we all know she’s only playing in a D1 college because of who her daddy is and that’s it.”
“Jealous much, Pickering?” I chuckle darkly, standing up.
Her head rears back in pure disgust.
“You think I’m jealous of Goldilocks down there?” She scoffs. “Try again, asshole.”
I clench my jaw from listening to her words.
I understand why she is the way she is. Hell, I’m the same way.
Watching all the kids here who come from warm and fuzzy families sometimes makes me want to puke.
In most cases, I’d be on Margo’s side because I can see her point of view.
But not when it comes to her talking shit about Isla.
My girl, who just doesn’t know it yet.
“Careful, Margo,” I warn. “I’ve got a thing for that girl you’re talking shit about. And that means my loyalty isn’t with you on this one.”
Her eyes narrow. “She’s a spoiled brat who is overrated,” she hisses. “And I promise you, I’ll make sure everyone knows that too. I’m a better goalie. Simple as that.”
Kneeling down in front of her, I invade the fuck out of her space, and her eyes instantly widen.
We’ve spent a little time together, but it’s always been platonic and consisted of us opening up about our childhood trauma or bantering back and forth.
Underneath the bitchiness, she’s a good person.
But right now, she’s really pissing me off.
“Envy is an ugly, ugly thing, Pickering.” I tsk her, reaching forward and touching a piece of loose hair that hangs past her chest. “Stay the fuck away from Isla Hardy, babe. Because I promise you, you won’t like what happens if you don’t.”
I relish in her shock and pure annoyance for a few seconds before pushing myself to stand and walking away from her.
But before I get too far, I look toward the other end of the arena to find a set of baby-blue eyes watching me.
And right when my gaze meets Isla’s, she quickly looks away and gets back to work.
But in that split second, I could feel her distaste after seeing me close to her enemy. And for whatever reason … it sends a jolt right to my dick.
No one else can fuck with her. But for me? It’s a sick fucking game. One I sure enjoy playing.
ISLA
When the clock buzzes, telling the four of us it’s time to get our asses to training or practice, I hang back, waiting for Margo to disappear from the arena before I toss the disgusting piece of gum into my trash bag and quickly make my way toward the exit.
Clark treads his way toward the locker room, stopping to stuff his garbage bag into the trash and walking past Hendrix without giving him a second look.
As close as Margo and Hendrix seemed to be a little bit ago, I’m surprised that he didn’t follow her outside to fuck her in some random room or supply closet—since that seems to be his thing.
But instead, he walks up the stairs and stops, leaning against the railing like he’s taunting me or something.
I hate that he caught me watching, but I hate even more that after I took in the sight of him grazing her hair with his fingertips, my palms were almost bleeding from my fists clenching so tight that my nails cut my flesh.
I have no interest in Hendrix Hunt. He’s an asshole and a complete psychopath. And yet, there I stood, staring at them and hoping they didn’t kiss.
As I walk toward the middle staircase, I debate continuing to the next one just to avoid him, but something tells me he’d only follow me anyway. He seems to get off on fucking with me, and as much as I hate it, I’m ashamed to admit that a small part of me enjoys it too.
So, instead of avoiding him, I decide I’ll just dart past him. But in true Hendrix fashion, he steps into the top of the aisle, smirking down at me.
“Even looking like you crawled out of bed, wearing those disgusting rubber gloves, you’re still so pretty, Nineteen,” he coos. “Tell me, did that fire that had you going crazy last night burn out?”
“Get out of my way, Hunt,” I murmur, peeling my gloves off one by one and shoving them into the garbage bag in my hand. “I’d hate to do this again tomorrow, but if you don’t move, I’ll have to knee you in the ballbag.”
Everything about him screams confidence. But unlike some athletes, his doesn’t have a limit. No, he’s as cocky as they come. Of course, I’m sure his talent and the way he looks don’t help that.
“Go get Margo, would you?” I hiss the words out before I have time to stop and think about how much he’s going to love that I said them.
I just proved to him—and myself—that maybe a piece of me was jealous when I looked up and saw him that close to her.
So, I make sure to add more. “I don’t have time for this today.
I need to be in the workout room in ten minutes. ”
“I don’t know what makes my cock twitch more, Nineteen,” he returns, raking his eyes over me. “Seeing you really fucking mad or knowing that you get jealous when you see me with other girls.”
“I do not,” I whisper angrily. “Why would I give two shits who you talk to, Hunt?”
He leans closer, his eyes taunting me. And even after being here since the ass crack of dawn, cleaning up the floors and peeling gum from seats, he smells good enough to literally eat. “Oh, I think you do, babe.”
My mouth opens, and my nostrils flare. But mostly, my cheeks heat because … he’s right. Luckily, before I have to come up with a response, Coach Talmage’s deep voice cuts through the arena.
“Hunt,” he growls. “We have shit to get through this morning, and I don’t need you acting like an ass, fucking it up.” He stops. “Locker room. Now.”
Hendrix seems completely unfazed and simply deepens his smirk, winking at me. “I’ll be seeing you, Nineteen.”
The words don’t come out as a suggestion but instead a promise before he slowly turns and heads toward the men’s locker room with the coach hot on his tail.
And as I scurry the opposite way, I tell the fire inside of me to go out.
Because Hendrix Hunt is not the man who should be setting anyone’s soul ablaze. Especially not mine.