Chapter 23 #2
He sighed, looking properly chastised. “You’re right.
I’m sorry, Lucy. I told myself I was bugging your room because I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do something even more reckless than usual, and wanted to make sure you were safe and stayed that way.
I can’t explain to you how essential it is to me that you’re safe, but I need it like I need to breathe.
” He shook his head. “But that wasn’t the only reason.
I did it because I’m obsessed with you, because I can’t stop thinking about you, because all I think about is you, and because the possibility of one of my players getting their sweaty hands all over you makes me want to knock their teeth out with a puck—or three. ”
Oh.
Oh.
“Obsessed?” I asked, my voice a little breathy.
He nodded solemnly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Completely obsessed.”
“And you couldn’t just…come to me and tell me this? You had to be all sketchy and secretive and do weird shit like steal my underwear?”
His eyes darkened, and he moved in closer, looming over me as he lowered his voice. “Do you really think that was weird? Because I think, secretly, you like it.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t going to lie.
“I did.” I cleared my throat. “So what does this mean, for us?”
He hesitated. “It means that even if I wanted to stay away, I couldn’t.”
“I mean,” I shrugged, smiling through the vulnerability. “Same.”
“And I don’t want any of these fuckers around you. I swear, Lucy. You wear someone else’s jersey to a game again, and I won’t bench him—I’ll kill him.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I told him. “Besides, I stole your jersey, and I’d rather wear that.”
“Damn, I want to see that,” he growled. His eyes cleared. “But you can only wear it—”
“In private, I know,” I said. I wasn’t going to risk his job or my future.
“No one can find out about this. But if you kill anyone who gets near me, it goes the same for you. I need to know you won’t be with anyone else.
” I swallowed, the next part hard to say out loud.
But I would, anyway. “And I need to know why you won’t kiss me. ”
Blake opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the door to the locker room opened, and Trey stuck his head out, looking annoyed.
“Coach, the team is waiting for you. I think whatever you need to talk about with your ward and our assistant can wait. Can’t it?”
Coach nodded. He looked at me, eyes apologetic. But Trey cleared his throat and Coach turned away, walking past him into the locker room. Before the door shut, Trey looked at me.
“Whatever you’re doing to him, stop.”
“I’m not doing any—”
But the door banged shut on my denial, leaving me wondering what this meant for Blake and me, and more importantly, where things stood with him and other women.
I should’ve worried more.
We were down by two points when it happened.
It was four minutes into the second period, and I was sandwiched between Blake and Trey behind the players’ bench.
I felt almost claustrophobic. Blake was pressed against me on one side, and Trey tried not to touch me on the other.
In front of us sat fifteen players, focused on the game but still aware of my every move.
I leaned back against the glass that separated the fans from the team, desperate to cool down from the heat radiating off of Blake’s body, and did my best to focus on the game.
Taking Emory out had been a real mistake. The team was lagging, missing passes; our defense was uncoordinated and giving up two-on-ones; our goalie couldn’t get in the zone, making it easy for the opposing team’s center to score back to back with what seemed like half-assed attempts at a save.
Mason looked pissed but stole the puck and skated towards the net on a breakaway when the other team’s defense dove in front of him, attempting to block the shot and dislodging the net in the process.
The other team’s defense said something that set him off, because he shoved them back, ripping off his gloves.
The team was a mess. Emory was the glue that held them together, and without him they were a bunch of lone wolves instead of a pack.
The ref blew his whistle. Blake pointed at the ref and called him over. He and Trey argued with him emphatically, Trey’s arms waving every which way. Blake leaned over the bench, sticking his face in the ref’s and using his size and stature to intimidate him.
It must have worked, because the ref blew his whistle again, made the call, and the players lined up while Mason took his penalty shot.
Coach and Trey had their heads together as they made their way back to me, I strained to hear what they were saying.
“You know, my sister’s here tonight.”
“That’s nice.”
“No, she’s here to see you.”
“Why?”
“You invited her.”
You could’ve heard my heart thud to the floor.
Professor Putrovksi was here. Not only was she here, she was here for Blake.
Blake, who was mine. Blake, who’d told me if another man got near me, he’d kill him, but hadn’t had the chance to acknowledge it worked the same for him and other women.
Hadn’t had the chance, or had he avoided telling me it wasn’t the same for him and other women?
Did he know that she was my professor? Did he know about the potential intercollegiate program I was up for?
Was there any chance I could have him and my dream?
Somehow everyone else missed my heart thud, too focused on Mason as he shot the puck straight past the other team’s goalie into the net. It was an easy shot, changing our score from 0-2 to 1-2.
As the horn blared, the crowd roared, and Mason skated past the bench, high fiving his teammates as he tapped the goalie’s pads. Coach made it back to where I waited.
The second he arrived I hissed in his ear, “You invited Trey’s sister to the game?”
He rubbed his head. “Apparently.”
“Who the fuck is she to you?”
He rubbed his head. “We need to talk about this later, Lucy.”
“You know she’s my professor, right?”
He blinked, shocked.
“Ah, fuck.”
“Yeah,” I hissed as Trey made his way back to us. “Fuck.”
Blake raised his voice as Trey sat down. “Lucy, I need you to focus, and I need to focus. In order for us to do that, I need you to not get into trouble so I don’t get distracted. Got it?”
What I got was that he was being a bossy asshole in public to make it seem like nothing was happening between us. I liked when he was a bossy asshole—but only in private. This made my ears steam.
“Will you let Emory play?”
He scowled. “No.”
“Do you want me to do a strip tease on the ice during intermission?” I threatened.
He knew I would.
“Goddamnit.” He turned to the box behind him, raising his voice. “Van der Linde, you’re back in.”
His replacement got off the ice. Looking grateful, Emory pulled on his helmet, jumped the barrier, and skated out onto the rink, tagging the backup winger out. He looked up in the stands for a moment at someone before shaking his head and taking his position on the ice.
Play resumed, and I sat between two grown men, aware that both their eyes were on me—for different reasons.
“I’m still pissed at you,” I murmured to Blake.
A small, regretful smile played on his lips.
“I know.”
“Fuck,” Trey muttered.
I looked over at him. “What?”
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
I did.
“You don’t call her that,” Blake snapped before he could stop himself.
“A fuck ton of trouble,” Trey repeated.
This time, I smiled.
He was right. I was.