The Not - Outcast

“Dude.”

That was Hendrix again, and his voice sounded like it was coming from a distance.

A part of my brain finally clicked in. I knew he was still beside me, but I was in the middle of having a reaction like one I’d never had before in my entire life. This was me and I wasn’t giving a damn.

That girl was mine. Everyone else just needed to learn it. And fast.

I was normally a very chill guy.

I came from good parents. My dad was a rare breed—smart with money, but also not an asshole at home. Good father. Good husband. My mom was and still is a stay-at-home parent and crazy supportive. She ran an Etsy shop—one that she didn’t like to let anyone know about, and she was super low-maintenance. Liked to joke with us, share a beer and watch a football game. My two little brothers were the same. I mean, they had attitudes. What teenager didn’t? They were both good athletes, good-looking, and they got their fair share of party invites and DMs from girls their age, sometimes older.

But their successes never went to their head.

That was a testament to our parents.

Our mom and dad kept all of us grounded, so because of that, I was grounded. Humble. The most baggage I ever had to deal with came from my best friend, because while my family wasn’t messed up, his was. His family was seriously fucked up, though his little brother was super fucking rad.

But all that said, general life stuff, I was a laid-back, easygoing guy.

Except with hockey.

Everything went out the window when it came to hockey.

On the ice, I killed. I was a fucking animal once my skates hit the ice, and the same competitive nature was in my family, too. At a soccer game, my mom was quiet and cheering just like everyone else. At my rink, my mom led the cheers in, “YOU FUCKING KILLLLLL HIM, CUT! WE DIDN’T NAME YOU CUT FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES! YOU FUCKING MAKE YOUR NAMESAKE PROUD, CUTLER RYDER!”

The whole team loved her, but there was always, literally always, a stunned response from the fans when Hockey Mama Alice Ryder came out. That part of my mom was what I inherited and what was coming to the surface now and as my girl shifted…that’s when I saw the guy.

I wanted to take his head off, now. Right fucking now.

“Hey. Oh. Wow. Whoa. Okay.”

I started forward, but Hendrix hopped in front of me. He was blinking, a bewildered look on his face. His drink was gone. Where’d that go? So was mine. I didn’t care, but his hands were up and he kept shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, never seen you act like this, but get yourself under control. You get the same look when you’re trying to piss off an enforcer. Now. Calm down before you head over there—”

I didn’t let him finish whatever the fuck he was about to say. I was gone.

Loved Hendrix, but I was outta there.

The guy was standing by my girl. She’d learn. So would he. Everyone in the room would learn. I was about to claim her in a big fucking way.

I was almost there.

The guy—what the fuck was he wearing?

He was drunk. Could see that right off the bat. His face was flushed, sweaty. His eyes were dilated. He was waving his hand around, an emptied glass in his grasp, and he was moving in on her with each step he was taking. His eyes were shifting all over the place.

I eased back, just a bit.

Her head was down, locked in place. I could see her side profile, and she was biting her lip.

Not the lip. That was mine to bite, not hers.

Those were thoughts I’d have to express later because now was not a socially acceptable time to broadcast my intentions, and I had plenty. A shit-ton of intentions when it came to her, her body, her pussy, her mouth, her breasts, her legs. Her. Just her.

I wasn’t dumb. I was reacting from some inner emotions that I’d never tapped into before. I’d never had a reaction like this, and I’d seen—and been with—some seriously hot women. Came with the job when we partied with supermodels at times or were asked to pose for photo shoots to raise awareness for a cause.

But this woman, this reaction wasn’t just physical, though I didn’t need to pour more gasoline on that flame. It was blazing and about to take down the entire building, so I needed a fucking second.

I took it.

I stopped, reaching for water from Alex, another teammate who had also noticed me. His eyebrows were sky high, and his eyes shot past me. I knew Hendrix was there, and when I kept moving, I knew Alex had fallen in line behind me. They were there to keep me from getting handcuffs slapped on my wrists because they both knew I had a temper inside of me, and when it was switched, I never cared about the devastation I was about to lay out.