Chapter 15 #2
And there he was. Lively Summers, gear bag slung casually over one broad shoulder like it weighed nothing, his blonde hair tousled in that perfectly messy way that totally screamed 'I spent thirty minutes making this look effortless.'
Ugh, he’s such a try-hard , I thought as I watched them saunter into the rink. Just watching him walk in here like he owned the place only served to rouse the anger sleeping in my veins and I clenched my fists around my hockey stick.
The sound of his laughter carried across the ice, deep and reckless.
It was annoying the way his entire face transformed when he laughed, so much so that it made something twist in my stomach, low and insistent.
Yeah, that was definitely irritation. The bastard was out here laughing like he didn’t have a damn care in the world despite the cheap schtick he’d pulled.
His laughter cut off abruptly, mid-sound, even.
I watched, as if in slow motion, as his head turned and those searching blue eyes found mine across the distance between us, his gaze locking on with eerie precision, as if he had some kind of built-in ‘Hailey-radar’ that could pick me out of a crowd of thousands.
Gah, did he really love picking on me that damn much?
For a brief moment, those eyes of his held mine with an intensity that made my hackles raise, and then the cocky bastard had the audacity to wink at me.
And it wasn’t a subtle gesture either, but an over-the-top, deliberate move designed to get under my skin.
And damn him, it worked. I wanted to punch him so bad.
"Baleman!" Coach Hawkins's sharp voice snapped me back to attention. She skated over, whistle dangling around her neck, storm clouds gathering in her expression. "Why are you standing there staring? Start the cool-down drills. We've got ten minutes before we need to clear the ice."
I turned away so quickly I nearly lost my edge. "Yes, Coach! Alright, Belles! Cool-down lap and then we're out!" My voice echoed across the ice; my temper barely held in check.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“Hails, are you okay?” Gina started to ask, but I really wasn’t in the mood to answer any probing right now.
“Monitor the cool down drills, please,” I said, my tone curt. “I need to go shower now. I’ll tell Coach on the way.”
And without waiting for her answer, I was gliding towards where Coach Hawkins stood, jaw clenched.
The cool air of the rink did nothing to soothe the heat of my anger as it coiled tight in my chest. But before I could make it off the ice, my fingers found their way into my pocket, pulling out that crumpled note almost against my will.
The paper stared back at me, bold and taunting.
A rush of irritation hit me all over again, hot and sudden as I stared at the damn slasher handwriting scrawled on the paper.
Really, if I was being honest with myself, this wasn't even about the stupid note or the chocolate bar. This was about boundaries. I didn’t want to remember it, but I couldn’t help as the annoying memory of the stupid jerk move he’d pulled back in freshman year surfaced in my mind: somehow getting half the guys on the damn campus to avoid me like the plague.
I mean, it wasn’t like I’d been looking to date anyone, but the fact that he’d made it his life’s mission to mess with my chances of getting a boyfriend, pushing my boundaries, acting like he had some right to play these ridiculous games with me, as if my reactions were his personal entertainment, pissed me the hell off.
And now, he thought he could pull that crap again?
Fuck this shit.
As soon as Coach Hawkins blew her final whistle signaling the end of our practice time, I made my decision and, before I could talk myself out of it, I changed direction, making a beeline for where Lively was sitting on the bleachers, lacing up his skates while his shoulders continued to tremble with that goddamn annoying laughter.
Of course he’d be laughing; there was enough shit for him to find funny.
I was probably skating with more force than necessary because his head snapped up at my approach, that stupidly handsome face lighting up like a Christmas tree.
He stood immediately, abandoning his half-tied skate, all six-foot-plus of him unfolding with athletic grace that I flat out refused to admire.
"Hey, Hailstorm," he said, that stupid nickname sounding like a term of endearment as it fell from his lips.
The eagerness in his voice, the way his entire body seemed to orient itself toward me like a compass finding north, only made me even angrier.
Where did he get off, acting like that after actively bullying me, huh? Was he a freaking pervert or something?
Jaw clenched so hard I was sure my teeth were filing away, I shoved the paper against his chest, hard enough that he had to reach up and grab it to keep it from falling.
His hand brushed mine for a fraction of a second, warm skin against my heated one, sending an unwelcome jolt up my arm before I quickly snatched it away, deciding not to acknowledge that reaction at all.
“Hey, fuckface , you think this is funny?” I said, my tone ice cold as I fought with everything inside me to keep my voice steady.
It wouldn’t do to lose my temper with him and show him that the shit he’d pulled really had any effect on me.
I needed him to know that whatever game he was playing, I wasn't a willing participant.
Lively's eyes widened in mock surprise as he recognized the note. Slowly, deliberately, those full lips of his curled into that infuriating smirk—the one that dimpled his left cheek and made half the girls on campus swoon.
"Aw, you kept the note with you." He held it delicately between two fingers, the paper looking small against his large hands, like it was something precious instead of the literal trash it was.
His voice dropped an octave, taking on a husky quality that made me want to claw his eyes out.
"Why, did it make your heart flutter, Hailstorm? "
This moron .
"Flutter? Don’t flatter yourself. I thought you were trying to threaten me." I drawled, making my tone as lazy as possible.
His brows shot up high on his forehead, those blue eyes widening in genuine shock. "What?"
Heh, would you look at that?
I arched a brow, keeping my expression cool and detached even as heat crawled up my neck. "What person’s heart will flutter looking at this chicken scratch? It looks like a freaking serial killer wrote this shit."
At my words, the Rink Runners all burst out into questionable coughs that sounded very much like muffled laughter.
Dylan's shoulders were actively shaking as he bent over to tie his skates, not even trying to hide his amusement.
Randy Barnes, their buff as heck tank of a defenseman, had to turn completely away, his massive frame quivering with suppressed laughter.
“She said a serial killer wrote that shit. Oh God.”
“Oh shit, I'm dying.”
“This should be a damn reality tv show. God, I’d pay my retirement fund to watch this shit over and over.”
Lively, on the other hand, was completely frozen, his eyes wide with what looked a lot like horror. The confident smirk had vanished, replaced by genuine bewilderment that would have been comical if I wasn't so irritated.
"What...serial killer?" He mumbled, sheer disbelief in his voice as he looked down at the note in his hand, as if he was just seeing it for the first time.
I couldn’t deny the fact that seeing those emotions flash across his face made satisfaction flush through my chest like cooling balm. Serves him right, I thought.
I skated closer, eliminating the inches of space between us and said, "The next note I find in that locker," leaning in close as I was, I could smell his cologne—something woodsy and expensive that clung to him like a second skin, "is getting shoved down your throat, Summers."
I meant it as a threat, and I delivered it like one too, with all the ice I could muster in my gaze.
But instead of looking intimidated, or even properly chastised, that bewildered expression from before disappeared and his smirk widened.
There was something almost… predatory in the way his eyes darkened, pupils dilating slightly as they held mine.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, Hailstorm," he murmured, his voice pitched so low I had to strain to hear it even though we were inches apart.
My lips turned down, disgust (it had to be disgust) twisting in my gut. “Goddamn pervert,” I spat, and he had the gall to laugh.
“Baleman, that better not be a fight!” Coach’s voice crackled across the ice, and I grunted under my breath before turning to face her.
“Of course not, Coach,” I called back, putting enough civility into my voice as I said it, “Just a friendly chat between teammates . You know, since we’re ‘partners’.
” I turned back to glare at the asshole as I said that last part, and he was still chuckling behind his palm like all of this was one big joke to him.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Ha. He thought I was just playing around, didn’t he? “Fine. You want to play hardball? We’ll fucking play hard ball.” I bit the words out from between my teeth, each one rock hard with my intent.
Lively’s eyes widened again, and I watched as red splotches began to appear, riding high on his cheekbones. I physically recoiled at the sight of it.
Ew. Wtf is up with this bastard? I thought, eyeing him with my lips curling further in undisguised distaste.
“Baleman!” Coach Hawkins's voice cut through our tense standoff. "We need to clear the ice. Now."
“Yes ma’am!” I answered at once.
I’d never been so happy to hear a command from Coach like I was at that moment.
Because shit, the look on this bastard’s face was so damn unsettling.
Did I care enough to find out what the hell that was all about?
Hell no. So, I spun on my skates, the movement so sudden that my braid whipped around with me, no doubt slapping him across the face.
That asshole’d mapped out all my triggers and weak spots with a precision that irritated me, then went ahead and delighted in exploiting every single one. But he was crazy if he thought I was going to sit back and take this shit any longer.
Since he wanted a fight, then I was going to give him a goddamn war .