Chapter 14 Fletcher
FLETCHER
Dana Holbrook. This is my shot.
I see the way she’s looking at me. She wants to fuck one of the hockey players she owns. I’m going to fuck her brains out, then I’m going to get that info off her phone.
And Hudson will pull you, and you won’t play Seattle in a few days.
So? We’re going to lose. Seattle is the current Stanley Cup champ—undefeated. They have Emil Maynard on their team, Zayne Murphy’s rival since they were drafted at eighteen. And unlike Zayne, he’s not playing drunk.
Hudson’s right. I’m not here to play hockey. I need to get my head in the game. The real game.
I’m making a risky play here, faking Dana out like you fake out a goalie.
If I flirted with her, she’d think I was coming on too strong—it would be too obvious.
But not a few too-long looks. Let my eyes flick to her tits then back to her face, send the signal that I’m interested.
Keep looking at her as I undress, but not fully—let her admire my ass through the skintight Under Armour bodysuit.
She’s lingering. I can tell as I head to the showers, only moving to strip off the shirt when I’m just about to turn the corner so Dana only gets a glimpse.
I plot my conquest as I shower, mindful of the bruises forming all over my torso.
I think of Ellie and feel ever so slightly guilty as the water runs over my skin.
Not about sleeping with her boss, because Ellie and I aren’t in a relationship.
I don’t want to be in a relationship with her.
I don’t even want to sleep with her, which is weird, right?
Because she’s not that unattractive, and she does have a cute body.
I can see it in those skintight leggings when she skates in practice.
Dana.
I shake my head, sending my nose throbbing. Turn the water to cold. Stay under the spray until the rest of my teammates have cleared out.
Dana’s perched on one of the benches, legs crossed, typing with one immaculate fingernail on her phone.
I let the towel drop from my waist, use it to towel my hair. “You here to offer me a big-boy NHL contract?”
I see her eyes slide over the tattoos tracing my hips. She draws that fingernail over her perfect lip.
She stands up. “Did you have fun fighting out there on the ice, Fletcher Sullivan?”
Something about the way she says my last name sends a shiver up my spine, and not in a good way. She steps up to me. For some reason, it feels like I no longer have the upper hand. She draws her finger down the bridge of my nose.
I stifle a wince.
Then she jams a nail in the bruise on my cheek. I bite my cheek to keep from yelling.
“For all the shit you gave my coach, someone thinks his life plan is to sleep his way to the top.”
“I don’t—”
“And you’re just half hard because you’re thinking about the furry porn you’re going to watch tonight in your unwashed sheets.
” She looks down. My dick shrivels up. “If you want to keep playing for the NHL, you better shape up, Sullivan.” She turns on impossibly tall and skinny high-heeled shoes and struts like a cat, like a billionaire who literally does own the place.
“Tell your idiot, brain-dead hockey pals that I don’t fuck little boys.
If your net worth is shorter than your credit card number, I’m not interested.
Oh.” She turns over her shoulder, glossy brown hair cascading down her back.
“Your nose is leaking. Go to urgent care. You’re not on an NHL contract, and I don’t have to cover you with my insurance. ”
Ellie is bubbly and happy at practice the next morning when I stomp down the tunnel and glide onto the ice.
“We are still technically the worst team in the league,” she says, “but the important part is that we are still a team. I’m loving the team energy!”
My teammates don’t look all that upset about the loss, nor are they resigned.
“We’re not that bad.” Bramms grins. “I’ve got like five requests to be on hockey podcasts. Shit’s lit!”
“Yeah, we’re famous.” Jovi is giddy.
“And look.” Ziggy shoves his phone at Ellie. “Vegas changed our odds. Bookies think we’ll only lose by one or two points against Seattle in a few days.”
“Still a loss,” I mutter. One of the rookies who hears me seems to wilt.
Ellie calls out the drill she wants us to do, then she skates over to me. “You need to keep a positive attitude,” she scolds. “Don’t bring down the group. They look up to you.” Her tone has that I’m not angry, just very disappointed in you edge.
Screw her.
I hate the way that makes me feel like I’m a kid again and my mother and my fucking teachers are trying to tell me that I’m the problem—that if I only just applied myself, I could be someone.
“Shift your weight like this,” Ellie says, demonstrating how she wants us to come into the shot. “Everyone, do it slowly. If you can’t do it perfectly slow, you’re not doing it perfectly fast.”
As soon as she lets us line up, I send the pile of pucks in front of me ricocheting into the empty net.
The Finn whistles.
“Wow!” The rookies are impressed.
Ellie beams at me. “See? Fletch did it perfectly.”
She doesn’t have any right to be pleased. She didn’t do anything.
My mood gets worse and worse as we run the drills and practice the plays then finally do a scrimmage.
Ren settles in the net a lot more confidently than Braxton, who seems like he’d rather be anywhere else.
I’d rather be anywhere else. I skate around in a tight circle.
“Now, Seattle is tough,” Ellie says as we line up on the red line. “But I think we can beat them.”
“No, you don’t. No one does.”
She glares at me. I match it.
The mood has shifted in the ice rink. The players are antsy from the slow control and focus of the drills. Everyone wants to play fast.
We position for face-off. Ellie drops the puck, and I slam it to Eddie and rocket forward.
“No!” Ellie yells as we ignore her, heading for the net.
She blows her whistle as Ren catches the shot.
“Go back to the center line. We’re running it again. Do the butterfly pattern.”
“This is how I always play,” Eddie complains.
“And you’ve always lost.”
I mutter a curse.
Ellie drops the puck, and I fight Carlsson for it. “No!” Ellie blows her whistle again, right in my ear. “I don’t need you to do it perfectly, but I do need you to try. Be the butterfly.” She holds out her hand. “Give me the puck. Again.”
I don’t hand it to her. Instead, hauling back my stick, I slam it to the glass. It cracks in a spiderweb.
“Go get the puck.” Ellie sets her jaw.
“Get it yourself.”
“Fletcher, I’m going to count to three. One, two… three…”
I don’t move.
“That’s it. Go sit in time-out.”
“Time-out? We have a game. I have to practice,” I scoff.
“Fifteen-minute time-out. You’re having big feelings, and you need to do some deep breathing.”
“I don’t have to. I’m not a child,” I snarl at her.
“Cookie, come play center for this drill.”
I’m furious. “I played forty-seven minutes last game. Cookie didn’t play shit. He can’t have my spot.”
“I told you to go to time-out. Can you do it yourself, or do I need to help you?” Ellie says simply.
I stare down at her, throw my stick on the ground, and cross my arms. “Go on, make me.”
My teammates watch us.
The Finn looks disgusted. Fuck him—he eats rotten fish he digs up on a beach.
I hear Ren in his heavy goalie gear leave the net. “Yankee,” he warns.
I sit down on the ice.
“You can take yourself off the ice, or I’m going to pick you up.” Ellie hands Bramms her gloves and stick.
I smirk up at her. “More of your preschool shit?”
She rolls up her sleeves. She’s going to try to push me. I dig my skate into the ice as she grabs my shoulders.
But instead of pushing or pulling, she crouches down and hooks her elbows under my arms.
She’s not—there’s no way. I have a foot and a hundred pounds on her. There’s no fucking—
She tips me over and picks me up. My helmet pops off my head, clatters to the ice as she deadlifts me over her shoulder.
“What the fuck!” I curse.
Ren is howling with laughter like a bobcat, slapping his leg. Even Zayne snickers as Ellie slowly skates toward the door to the penalty box.
I could struggle and fight her and topple us both on the ice, but she’s not wearing a helmet or padding like I am, and I don’t want to hurt her. Mainly because Ren might hurt me, not because I care about Ellie.
So I freeze as she mortifyingly slowly skates across the ice, carrying me.
“I don’t tolerate misbehavior from boys. Or men,” she says in that teacher voice. Jovi helpfully opens the gate for her, then she dumps me on the floor and sets her watch. “Fifteen minutes of deep breathing, then you can rejoin the team.”
Stunned, I sit on the floor. How did she even—that shouldn’t be physically possible.
For the first time, I look at her, really look at her as she skates back to the group. Her legs are curvy, yeah, but that’s all muscle. Her legs are tree trunks. Her ass is huge, and yeah, her chest is big, but there’s muscle there, not just her tits.
I throw my gloves against the wall. “Don’t think about her tits.” She’s a girl, though. How can I not?
A girl who got the upper hand on me. I fume as Ellie tries to corral the hockey players on the ice.
We’re going to lose. I’m never going to get the data I need for Hudson, and now I can’t even burn off my frustration skating.
The rink gate opens. “Fifteen minutes are up.”
“Practice is almost over,” I complain, shoving past her. She skates after me. I snarl at Cookie, who’s in my spot.
“From the top!” Ellie blows her whistle.
I don’t want to sit out the rest of practice. As much as I hate it, I pass to Jovi just like a good little hockey player, slip around behind him, collect the puck from him, then pass it under my leg behind me right to Eddie’s tape.
“Eddie, what the fuck!” I scream at him. He’s not where he’s supposed to be, and the Finn on the other team snatches it and takes off toward Braxton’s net.
Ellie blows her whistle. “That’s it. You all have not been following directions or listening. Therefore, you aren’t getting pizza Lunchables after the game.”
“But you promised!” one of the rookies whines.
“Then act like you’re paid to be here,” Ellie tells him icily.
“I’m not getting real pay, and I’m going to be out of here before I get a real contract.”
“Yeah, who gives a shit?”
I turn on Eddie, slap my stick at him. “What the fuck were you doing?”
“Not her stupid-ass play.”
“You started it, Yankee,” Ren snaps as he skates past me in the oversized goalie padding.
The practice ends with Ren throwing his blocker pad at Ziggy.
“Aren’t you gonna put him in time-out?” I complain.
“You can pick me up anytime, darling.” Ren winks at Ellie.
I rip off my gear in the locker room while Ellie walks through the schedule for Seattle. Her grandmother whistles as I strip off the skintight Under Armour pants. I’m not wearing anything underneath.
I turn to face Ellie, fully naked.
I expect Ellie to blush or something. Maliciously, I want to have the upper hand.
She just looks down her nose at me. “I used to be a preschool teacher. I’ve changed many a little boy’s diaper. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. The plane leaves at six tomorrow morning. Please make sure you pack enough undies.”