11. Chapter 11 #2
Someone grabs my jersey and wrenches me backward. “Both of you knock it off!”
A ref is pulling Jenkins away from me. “It’s a new year. You two are already going at it.”
I turn and smile at the linesman behind me. “You know what you’re getting into when it comes to our games.”
The guy huffs. “I should get double pay for this.”
“You should.” I wink, skate back to the bench, then sit next to Hunter. “That was fun.”
He doesn’t respond.
Of course, Coach Reed sits me for a rotation, the fucker.
Whatever.
Hunter’s out on the ice without me. But our other defenseman is decent enough. I sigh, watching everyone having fun out there. Then Hunter carries the puck into their zone, heads to the net, and rips a wrist shot that beats Novotny.
I jump up, banging my stick on the boards. “Fuck, yeah!”
Hunter doesn’t celebrate, doesn’t even smile. He just starts making his way back to our bench, gliding right past Jenkins.
“Look at you. Acting like that wasn’t the luckiest bounce of your life.”
Hunter turns, getting so close that he towers over the smaller hockey player.
Knight shoves him from behind. “Move along.”
Shit.
Hunter grabs Knight's jersey with both hands, dips low, and drives through his hips. Knight's skates leave the ice, and he hits the surface hard. Whistles blare. Knight gets to his feet, then cracks his stick across the back of Hunter’s legs.
Bad move.
Hunter punches him in the side multiple times. Knight throws a few right back. The refs pull them apart, sending each to the penalty box.
“Miss being out there. But fuck.” Reed huffs, shaking his head. “At this rate, you two are gonna set up a fucking cot in the penalty box.”
“Worth it.”
He laughs.
We hang on to the tie until the last ten seconds of the second period when the Titans score again.
Third period starts, and the arena is going wild. With a close score, shit’s about to get chippy, and everyone watching knows it. The beginning of the period is a stalemate. No one gets past Hunter or me, but Novotny’s stopping every shot coming his way.
Jenkins has the puck now and shoots from the slot. Shin blocks it, and the rebound kicks into the corner. Jenkins goes after it, and I'm right behind him.
We battle along the boards, his back to my chest, sticks digging for the puck. He's strong for his size, and he fights dirty in the corners—elbows out, feet kicking at the puck, refusing to give an inch.
“Quit riding me.”
“Just doing my job.” I press my weight into him, flattening him against the glass. “But since we're talking about riding—you keep pushing that ass back, and I might fill my cup.”
“Only cup you're filling is the one you cry into after we beat your ass.”
“You're cute when you talk shit.” I grind my hips forward, keeping him pinned. “Cuter when you squeak, though.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about the sounds you make when someone grabs your hair. Who does it better, Hunter or me?”
Everything stops.
His stick stops moving. His legs stop pushing. Even his breathing pauses. I can feel it because his back is against my chest and the expansion . . . isn’t there.
“My dick got so fucking hard watching you come. Both nights. It was a real bitch riding home. Bikes and hard-ons don’t mix.”
Jenkins doesn’t respond, and shit, his chest still isn’t moving.
I pull away, giving him some room. Nothing changes, so I cross-check him in the back. “Breathe before you pass out.”
He turns so fast, I’m not ready for the fist punching into the side of my helmet or the ferocity of the roar coming from him. “You motherfuckers!”
The second punch knocks my head sideways. “Didn't you learn not to punch the helmet? Thought we went over this.”
“Fuck your helmet.” He grabs mine and jerks until the strap gives, then he rips his off and throws it. “Now I can hit that ugly face for real.”
“Ugly? That's hurtful.” My head snaps sideways when his bare fist connects with my cheekbone. “Ow. Okay, that one was decent.”
“Shut the fuck up. You sick, psychotic—”
I swing back and catch him above the eye. Blood drips down his face. It doesn’t stop him. This time, his fist cracks across my jaw, and my head jerks back.
That’s gonna be a goddamn headache later. But it's the pain in my cup that makes me groan.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Right now?
He punches me in the mouth, splitting my lip. “You know what's funny? I'm hard right now. Thought you should know.”
“Why won’t you just.” Punch. “Shut.” Punch. “The fuck up.” Punch.
“What fun would that be?” I throw an uppercut, connecting with his jaw.
He goes down.
The crowd pounds on the plexiglass, cheering us on. Or cheering on Jenkins because we are at the Crestwood Ice Complex. They get even louder when he gets back up and lands a punch to my stomach.
Whistles are blaring, refs pulling us apart for the second time today.
I grab my helmet and gloves off the ice, then make my way toward the penalty box. Jenkins goes into his first, and I smile as I skate past. “That was hot.”
The ref shoves me forward. “Keep moving.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I drop onto the bench and groan, then try to adjust myself. Every time I shift to try to get comfortable, the cup presses back, and the friction makes it worse. “Goddamn boner needs to go away.”
Across the glass, Jenkins glares at me, blood running down the side of his face and dripping off his chin.
Damn, I got him good.
He’s not wiping it. Or focusing on the game. Nope. He’s locked in on me, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring.
I wave.
His baby-blue eyes narrow.
I wink.
Someone taps their stick against the glass.
Hunter.
He looks at Jenkins, who glares right back, then at me before returning to Jenkins. Then he skates away.
“Hey, Jenkins, get used to that shit. He does it all the time. So fucking annoying. Like damn, use your words. Am I right?”
No response. Wasn’t really expecting one. Okay, maybe I thought he’d curse me out. Oh, well.
Damn, there are only two minutes left, which means I’ll be sitting here for the rest of the game. Unlucky for me, nothing changes, and the game ends with us losing to the Titans.
Again.
I leave the penalty box and skate to my team, where they are lining up for the handshake. I get in front of Hunter, but he spins me, grabs my chin, and looks over my face.
“I’m fine. More than fine. But seriously, being stiff while wearing a cup fucking sucks.”
Hunter’s eyes drop, he swallows hard, then returns his gaze to mine. “You told him.”
“Duh, did you not see him go nuts?”
He grunts.
“What?”
“Don’t want him hurting you.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s been our thing for a year now. Not my fault he keeps making it fun. Oh, shit. You think he won’t want to fight anymore? That would suck.”
Hunter spins me back around and nudges me forward. “Too bad.”
Three players down, Jenkins stands in line, his mouth set as if he’d rather chew through glass than shake my hand.
God, he’s fucking beautiful when he’s angry.