Clipped by Love (Bellevue Bullies 2)

With the puck, of course.

As I press my elbow into his gut, he lets out an oomph and I take that opening, turning and shooting. I miss though, to my dismay. Cursing, I rush with him at my side toward the puck. We reach it at the same time, both throwing elbows and hips, trying to get away from each other.

“Damn, Jay! Take it easy,” one of his brothers says when his elbow connects with my ribs, but I doubt he hears them. Hell, I hardly hear them until he comes up with the puck, skating toward the pink line.

Looking at me, he grins. “You okay there, Moore?”

“Just dandy, Sinclair. You can’t hurt me.”

Well, he could, but I wouldn’t allow him.

“Good to know, because I don’t see you as a hot, innocent girl in short shorts and a sexy tank that shows the sides of her tits when she skates hard.”

A grin comes over my face as it heats to color. “So what you’re saying is, if I wasn’t about to kick your ass, then you’d see me that way?”

Skating backward, he moves the puck back and forth as he holds my gaze. “Maybe.”

I chuckle a bit. “So instead, what do you see me as?”

“My competitor.”

Yup, I like him a lot.

“Dude, calm your tits, she’s a chick,” one of them calls.

“Don’t say that. She’s a dude in a chick’s body. She’s kinda mean,” Delanie says and I grin harder.

“I am,” I say with a wink.

“I’m not scared,” he says, holding my gaze. “Not one bit.”

“Then stop babysitting the fucking puck and try to score,” I challenge and he nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and then to my surprise at his size, he cuts left. When I go with him, he goes the other way, getting around me like I’m a fucking rookie and I’m left chasing him. When he goes to shoot, though, I lift his stick, hip checking him, trying to put my weight into him to throw him off, but he hip checks me instead, pain going up my side. Somehow though, I end up with the puck, and when I shoot, this time it clinks on the side of the pipe.

Since my dad isn’t here, I throw my arms up and grin. “Booyah!”

“Booyah? What are you, ten?” he asks, getting the puck and skating toward the line.

“Aw, are you upset? Did I dent your ego?”

“Baby, you have no effect on me.”

I laugh at that. “Please, I can see how bad you want to beat me.”

That has him laughing. “Yeah, I do, but then I want to fuck you too. Can you tell that too?”

I gasp, my eyes going wide as his bore into mine. His statement has me a little taken aback; he’s so damn blunt and fucking hot! When he flashes me a sexy little grin, I think it was his plan to distract me, because then he’s off to the races, and before I can even try to block him, he shoots, hitting it off the pipe.

Throwing his hands up, he points his stick at me and says, “Booyah.”

“Asshole,” I say, taking the puck to the line. “I’m pretty sure you said that to distract me.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. You’ll never know.”

Shit, why do I want to know? He means nothing to me. Damn it.

I square off to him and hold his gaze as I move the puck, calculating my next move. I could go left, even right, but a part of me wants to go right the fuck through him. Just to show him not to mess with me. I’m mad that I want to beat him and that I want him too. I don’t like this feeling. It’s weird and scary and I just want him to go away, but then I want to wrap my arms around him and make him tell me I’m pretty.