34. Dylan
DYLAN
The energy in the arena is electric, buzzing with the kind of intensity only opening night can bring. The Steelhawks are dominating, and even though I’m stuck on the bench, unable to play, my heart still races with every shift, every pass, every shot on goal.
I’m cheering along with the rest of the team when Finn buries the puck in the back of the net, but beneath the excitement, my mind won’t stop wandering.
To Ethan.
To the escalating tension that has been culminating between us all week, swelling and growing until it couldn’t be contained.
Until it resulted in him kissing me like he could consume me whole and still not be satisfied.
I still feel the bruising on my lips, the hard planes of him pressed against me, while I wonder what would have happened if Nolan hadn’t interrupted.
To Griffin.
To the fact that he’s been sneaking into my bed every night since the attack.
He doesn’t say anything about it, never asks, nor does he seem to expect anything.
But he’s there, and disturbingly, I find comfort in that.
No one has ever gone out of their way, risking their health, to climb through my window every night just to ensure I’m safe.
Not to mention he’s a surprisingly good cuddler—not that I’d ever tell him that.
But every time I roll over, he follows, pulling me right back into his chest so his arms are a steel cage around me. And I let him.
To Jax.
And the undeniably inappropriate hot tub sex we had.
I will never step foot in that room again without feeling how deliciously my walls stretched around him, the feel of him coming inside me, his lips on my skin and hands in my hair.
Once wasn’t enough. Instead of getting him out of my system, he’s burrowed so deep now that I fear I’ll never not want a taste of him.
The chemistry between us is off the charts, crackling like a live wire every time we’re near.
Finn, though, he’s an entirely different problem.
On one hand, I feel on stable ground with him in a way I don’t with the others.
I know where I stand with him, even if his impulse-driven kisses haunt my dreams at night.
During the day, all I want to do is shake some sense into him.
I want to scream at him that his best friend is a misogynistic asshole and how can he not see that.
But I can’t force him to see something he doesn’t, and if I could figure out a way to get Kyle to confess, then I’d have done it by now.
I have to hope that Kyle will slip up and show Finn his true colors.
At this point, it’s the only thing that will make him understand who he’s really protecting.
Who he’s choosing to side with. And until such a day, I guess I’m stuck living in a world where I simultaneously want to kiss the asshole and shake the living daylights out of him.
Exhaling sharply, I force myself to refocus on the game.
Graywater Lightning has the puck and is closing in on Griffin in the net.
Bodies shift. Sticks clash. My fingers dig into my thighs as I watch them set up a perfect one-timer, but Griffin tracks the shot and snags it out of the air like it’s nothing.
A loud whistle. A roar from the crowd.
I grin, clapping along with everyone else as players rotate off the ice.
Movement in my periphery catches my eye, and when I glance to the left, Kyle is climbing over the boards as his replacement takes the ice.
His body language drips smug arrogance despite the fact that he fumbled a couple of simple passes earlier.
His gaze finds mine almost instantly, like he was expecting me to look his way.
The smirk that curls at his mouth is razor-sharp, full of something taunting, something cruel.
A reminder. A warning. I’ve been doing everything possible to avoid him all week, with the guys running interference when we have to be around each other, but any time we’re alone like this, no one else present, I witness the Kyle who is capable of attacking an unsuspecting woman in a dark parking lot.
I don’t take the bait.
Instead, I keep my expression blank, my posture loose, even as goosebumps pebble along my arm.
Kyle exhales a quiet chuckle, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, and then, without another word, he turns his back to me. Dismissive. Like I’m nothing.
The irritation pinches, hot and pulsing beneath my skin. Gritting my teeth, I turn my attention back to the ice just as the final buzzer sounds.
The Steelhawks win.
The guys are all celebrating, shouting, and hollering as they clear the ice. And even though I didn’t play a single second, I still clap, still offer my congratulations as they file past me toward the locker room.
Jax slows as he reaches me, pushing his helmet up onto his head.
Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, and the helmet only enhances his strong jaw and draws my eye to the faint scar on his cheek.
For a moment, I lose all track of time as I drink him in.
He is so effortlessly hot. Moody and mysterious with a panty-melting smile.
Before I can swoon entirely and embarrass myself, I wrench my gaze to his.
I suck in a breath when I find him staring blatantly at my lips.
“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.” His voice is thick, gravelly, piercing straight through me as my body involuntarily leans closer to his.
The words “yes please” are on the tip of my tongue. As if sensing that, Jax clears his throat, pulling back just enough for me to remember where we are and who is looking on.
Right. Making out with a team member in front of an entire arena of fans, plus the rest of the Steelhawks, definitely isn’t a smart move. Especially when I have no idea what is happening with three other Steelhawks, and I have Kyle just itching for dirt on me.
“Good game,” I tell him as I wrangle my hormones back under control.
He flashes me a cocky smirk. “You coming out tonight?” His voice is still gruff, pupils dilated, likely with adrenaline from the win.
“Are you?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I’ll go if you go.”
Before I can answer, Ethan skates over to stand beside Jax. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm, and his damp hair sticks up in all directions when he runs his fingers through it. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. It so is.
“She’s going,” he states, making the decision for me.
“Is that so?” I challenge with an arched brow.
He pierces me with a no-nonsense look. You’d think that kiss yesterday might have burnt off some of his controlling energy, but unsurprisingly, no, it did not. “The whole team is going out—and that includes you.”
“If the whole team is going out, then that sounds like the perfect opportunity to get the house to myself.”
Jax laughs. “Good one, Menace. Like Ethan would let you stay home alone after last night.”
I huff, knowing he’s right. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I argue, “and I feel the need to remind you both that I’m not a child.”
Reaching over, Jax wraps his gloved hand around mine. “We just want to make sure you’re safe.”
My gaze drops to where the coarse fabric rubs back and forth across my skin. “I know.” I’m frustrated. I hate that this is how it is. I hate how weak it makes me feel to rely on others. And I hate the niggling voice in my head that says the guys are only spending time with me out of obligation.
I hate everything about this situation, and worst of all, I don’t know how to change it. Short of giving Kyle what he wants—me off the team—there is no other solution. No way to stop him and his minions from coming after me again.
“Come on,” Jax encourages, as if sensing my plummeting mood. “It’ll be fun. Then we can go home, and I’ll kick your ass at COD.”
I scoff, “You mean, I’ll kick your ass.”
Once Coach has debriefed the team and everyone is showered and changed, we all pile into The Stanley.
It is loud, packed with the usual Friday night crowd of students, hockey fans, and locals.
The team walks in like they own the place, everyone patting backs and high-fiving. The energy is contagious.
Unlike last time I was here, I’m dressed casually in black leggings and matching ankle boots, and a cream-colored loose, flowing top. Since I wasn’t playing tonight, my hair is down, swishing around my shoulders as I push onto my toes to see behind the bar.
I spot Wren immediately, serving the three-person deep crowd surrounding her. At the commotion of the team’s entrance, she looks up, scanning the crowd until she sees me. I wave, and she grins before going back to work.
“I’ll grab us a round of drinks,” Jax says.
The crowd divides like the Red Sea to let him through.
Flanked by Griffin and Ethan, with Finn ahead of us, lapping up the attention, we make our way through the crowd and toward the booths at the back of the room that quickly emptied as soon as the team walked in.
I end up sitting beside Ethan, with Griffin opposite. Finn initially diverted to talk to some of the guys at another table, but he returns when Jax appears with beers for each of us before claiming the open spot at my side.
It’s not long before the puck bunnies start circling. I catch sight of the blonde who is always hanging off Finn, and groan. Hearing it, Ethan glances my way before following my line of sight.
“Selena incoming,” he announces as the bunny’s—Selena’s—gaze lands on Finn with the precision of a sniper homing in on his target, and she starts moving this way. Great .
Dressed in a crop top and skintight leather pants that I swear give her a fucking camel-toe, she slides right up to him, oblivious to anyone else at the table as she presses her hands against his chest like she has every right to touch him.
“Congratulations,” she purrs, batting her fake eyelashes at him. “You looked incredible out there tonight.”