8. Monk
eight
Monk
W ynn pulled away from us again, kicking us out of her house before morning like we were her dirty little booty call secret—which I suppose we are for now. But it's been two days of seeing her at practice, and she hasn't said a word to us other than barking out plays and critiques on our hockey techniques.
"What's up with Wynn?" King says as we split up for warm-ups.
"I don't know, but it's beginning to piss me off. She's ours, and I don't give a fuck who knows it." Maximus flicks the puck toward the net, barely missing Hightower in the helmet.
"Watch where you're shooting—it's just warm-ups, Asshole!" Hightower shouts, only to be met with a 'piss off' from Maximus.
It seems none of us are in a good mood. But instead of taking the hint, Hightower pokes the bear as he eggs Maximus on with taunts about Wynn. "What's your problem, Martin? Isn't the coach putting out enough for the three of you?" He skates around us in a circle as we try to ignore him. Don't deny it. I saw the three of you leave her office the other day looking a little disheveled—the same look you had when you left her house at four o'clock in the morning a few days ago."
What the fuck? Why was he watching Wynn's house at that time of night? He lives three blocks away. There's no reason for him to be near her house or ours.
"Shut your damn mouth, Hightower!" Maximus lunges for Hightower as King tries to hold him back.
"Don't listen to that prick. Who cares what he thinks, anyway?" King says, tugging on Maximus' shoulder pad. "Let's get back to practice."
"The owners, that's who'll care about the three of us sleeping around with the coach, that's who," Hightower smirks, sending us all over the edge.
"That' sit. You're a dead man!" Maximus yells as we all charge Hightower. Throwing punch after punch until he's begging for mercy. It took six of our teams to pull us off of him even after he started begging.
The shrill whistle blows, making us snap our heads in the direction it came from, only to find a pissed-off Wynn glaring at us. "You three, in my office, now!" She skates off the ice, never once looking back to see if we're following her or not.
"Damn, she's sexy when she's mad," King whistles.
"See, I told you they're fucking the coach!" Hightower shouts as River and Bowen help him into a standing position.
"Are you really that stupid?" River shakes his head before he and Bowen skate back to the bench where the assistant coach has taken over the practice while Wynn chews our asses.
Eating our asses, I might be on board with, but chewing our asses is not something I'm looking forward to.
Like the naughty children, we're acting like King, Maximus, and I skate off the ice and take the walk of shame to Wynn's office.