4. Four
FOUR
J ax
The wolves win the game Friday night and party well into Saturday morning. And even though I still enjoy the high from my win, I couldn’t seem to get a girl with tight, blonde curls out of my fucking head.
The fire in her doe eyes has me obsessing over how to stoke those flames higher. I can’t stop thinking of all the ways that I can push her. She’s taking up all the space in my head. It’s maddening.
I step into the kitchen from the back door. Ross stands behind the island, a coffee mug poised in the air. His eyes narrow on me, taking in my clothes. Or lack thereof.
“Little early for a run on a Sunday,” he murmurs behind the mug.
I grunt, grabbing the sweatpants I came down in and pulling them on to cover my naked body. I walk over to the coffee pot and take a mug down from the rack above. Filling it, I turn to face him, leaning against the countertop. He’s staring at me intently, waiting for me to say something.
“What?” I growl. My voice is always deeper and more menacing after returning to my human form.
Ross shrugs, shaking his head. “Nothing.” There’s a mocking humor behind the word.
“Spit it out, Trip.”
“I just find it odd,” he muses.
“What do you find odd?” I bite out through clenched teeth.
He smirks at me. Mostly because he’s the only one who doesn’t cower down at my threatening tone. Something that I’ve always been curious about with him being my beta.
“A new girl transfers schools and suddenly your dick remains dry after a game,” Ross points out.
“I don’t ever fuck the puck bunnies. You know that. So, what’s your point?”
“Ah. But that’s the thing, you don’t fuck them, but you gladly let them fall to their knees after every game.” He raises a challenging eyebrow at me.
“I think you’ve had too much fucking caffeine.” I bare my teeth at him.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You like her.”
“She’s the bane of my existence.”
Ross tilts his head to the side. “Maybe so. But she’s gorgeous”—a low growl reverberates from my chest at his words—“You can’t hold back the primal urge thrumming through your veins when someone makes that comment. And apparently now, puck bunnies do not suck Jax Stone off after a game.”
I go to respond, but he cuts me off. “Not only that, but I also hear she’s incredibly smart and unfazed by the big, scary hockey player. In fact, she’s apparently made it her mission to crawl under your skin and die there.”
“How the fuck would you know that?” I retort.
He shrugs. “Some chick with legs for days that tends to make our lives a little more miserable as each game passes us by.”
Alicia Black. “How would she know any of that?”
Another fucking shrug. I’m tempted to sit on his stupid shoulders to see if he could accomplish more indifference with me weighing him down.
“Guess they are the best of friends.”
“She’s been here four days.” My jaw is clenched so tight, my teeth might break.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know. Maybe they knew each other beforehand.”
“Nah, man. She was a fucking Knight before showing up here.” The information I provide surprises him.
“A Knight? What the fuck is she doing here?” he asks pointedly.
“I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”