Evvy’s skates scraped ice as he came to a stop. “Problem?” He glanced at my junk and back up, grinning like an idiot. I yanked my hand away like it was on fire.
“Fuck off.” I gave him a half-hearted shove. Bastard didn’t move an inch. Evvy chuckled and shuffled close enough that none of the guys could overhear.
“Thinking about your Hot Blonde?”
I rolled my eyes. I knew telling Evvy about meeting up with Kylie was a mistake. Not that I gave him much. Just the basics—I propositioned her, she agreed, we fucked. Nothing else. Not even her name. For whatever reason, I wanted to keep her for myself, every last detail, the way she tasted, her scent, the sounds she made as she came. They were mine. Only… they weren’t, were they? For all I knew, she was fucking someone else this very minute.
“Dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Evvy’s voice snapped me out of my own head. I blinked and realized not only were we alone on the ice, everyone else having disappeared down the tunnel, but my jaw was clenched and I gripped my stick so hard with both hands, I was lucky it didn’t snap in half. It took immense concentration, but I managed to relax my muscles as I shrugged off Evvy’s concern.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Riiight. Okay, Sebby. Whatever.” Ev pushed off and skated toward the tunnel.
“I told you not to call me that!” I shouted after him.
He held up a gloveless hand and flipped me the bird.
Asshole.
Coach instructed everyone to hang out after showering. He had an announcement to make. I already had a hunch as to what it might be, and if the lead cannonball in my stomach meant anything, I was right.
We gathered around our lockers, some of us sat, some didn’t. I stood in front of mine, shoulder to shoulder with Ev. My job was awesome. I was a lucky bastard to get to play hockey for a living and I knew it, except for when shit like this went down.
“Shut the fuck up.” The room fell silent at Coach’s gruff bark. Frank Vernon commanded a room like no other. He was hands down the best coach I’d ever played for, even if he could be a total prick at times. His sharp gaze wandered, making eye contact with each of his men. “Management gave me the date for the annual team dinner.” A chorus of groans and grumbles erupted. “I said, shut up!” Hands on hips, Coach shot everyone his death glare, perfected by years of dealing with young, stubborn hockey players. “I don’t like it any more than you, but they’re the ones that pay us and we hafta do what they say. Period.” One of the veteran players mumbled under his breath. Coach’s head whipped around and he literally snarled. “Franzie, got somethin’ to say?”
Franzie shook his head, eyes wide. “No sir, Coach.”
I hid a smirk behind my hand. Amazing. Coach V. could even make a bad ass future Hall of Famer like Dominic Francola tremble in his skates. While Coach gave out the details, my mind drifted back to Kylie. For the millionth time since that night, I wondered what would have happened if she stayed? Part of me wished she had, just so I could wake up, roll over, and take that pussy again. The other part of me was annoyed she beat me to the punch. I was the one who left someone in bed, not the one who got left. Hell, I probably only dozed off for a couple minutes, but when I woke, Kylie was gone. There hadn’t been another home game since, so I didn’t have a chance to see her, though I was undecided on what to do when I did.
Sending another note seemed desperate, and Sebastien St. Clair wasn’t desperate. But I’d give my left nut to have her in my bed again. God, she was so damn responsive. Everything I did to her resulted in an amazing reaction, every slap, every thrust of my hips, fuck… I’d never made a woman come by playing with her tits before. That was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Evvy’s sharp elbow dug into my side as Coach asked a question.
Oh shit.
“Sorry, Coach. I didn’t hear you.”
Coach frowned, jowls looking… well, jowl-ier than usual. “I know, St. Clair. That’s why I’m telling you to fucking pay attention!”
I straightened up and ignored Evvy’s low chuckle. Bastard. Coach continued to explain that the dinner was mandatory, blah, blah, blah, same old bullshit as last year. And the year before. And the one before that.
He was almost done when the hairs on the back of my neck pricked. My gaze slid past Coach to land on Calloway. The look he was giving me was so dark, so menacing, so filled with loathing, I nearly flinched. Nearly. I would never give Bigfoot the satisfaction of thinking he got under my skin.
I glared back wondering what the fuck his problem was this time. I was the one who was black and blue from getting bashed into the boards over and over during practice. In fact, I was so caught up in everything Kylie, I didn’t even bother to retaliate against the jerk. Not once.
When Coach turned his back to me, I mouthed, “Fuck you,” to Calloway. Sasquatch didn’t react, but I noticed his shoulders crank another notch higher. Dude was wound as tight as a nun’s asshole. If he got any tighter, he’d shit fucking diamonds. Before Calloway had a chance to reply, Coach clapped his hands.
“Get out of here. Check your emails for directions to the restaurant, and for fuck’s sake, look presentable.” A quick exchange of glances with Evvy and we bolted for the door. As it closed behind us, I heard Coach tack on, “I’m talking to you, Lebedev, you goddamn slob.”
Evvy and I cackled all the way to the parking lot. I might have been laughing, but inside I wondered what the hell was stuck up Calloway’s ass this time. Knowing him, I was sure I’d find out soon enough.
“Then we took the kids to the aquarium. Oh man, you should have seen them. It was so much fun to watch them press their cute little faces against the glass. I took a ton of pictures, see?”
My vision blurred around the edges as I zoned out in an attempt to protect my brain from the bombardment of three dozen identical photos of two small blonde children I couldn’t tell apart, even if someone held a gun to my head. My idiot teammate went on and on about his rug rats, eagerly flipping through his phone to show me all the adorableness. Rude as it was, I couldn’t gather enough energy to pretend to give a shit. Anyone who knew me should have a fucking clue, I’m not the type to give two shits about their kids. Or any kids. Or the aquarium for that matter.
The only thing that kept me from either dropkicking the guy’s phone or dropping to the floor and convulsing, was the Jack and Coke in my hand.