I don’t understand. Isn’t this good news?
He takes a step back, and the space he’s created between us chills me to the bone. I don’t like it. I’m craving his warmth, his touch, his skin against mine. I fight the urge to shuffle toward him.
“Justin?”
He swings his arms, slapping his hands against his thighs. “Oh. Well, thank fuck for that. God knows we couldn’t date—hell, I can barely sleep without permission from Molly fucking Morrison.”
He doesn’t seem angry exactly, but bitterness drips from every word. I open my mouth to answer, to tell him that my loyalty to her had been keeping me from being open to something blooming between us but he’s already gone.
I’m once again left staring at the red door in the cold, wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.
CHAPTER14
Justin
It’s possible I might have overreacted earlier.
I mean, kinda sorta. Once or twice in my life I’ve been accused of being overly emotional, and the mere mention of Molly Morrison giving Savannah some kind ofpermissionto date me boiled my blood on the spot.
I knew she was tethered to our past by her loyalty to her friend, by everything she’d heard about me, by her preconceptions and misconceptions. But I’d hoped that it was the fact she was spending some time with me and seeing for herself that I’m not a douche canoe that brought her around. Not because Molly Morrison said so.
I’m grinding my teeth as I tape my stick before the game. I’m supposed to be pepping up my boys, filling them full of you-can-do-it speeches about kicking the Snow Pirates asses in their own barn for the second night in a row. But all I can think about is Savannah fucking Bowen.
Kissing her felt as easy as just being. She tasted sweet like sugar and all things nice, and when I left my mark on her neck, something primal inside me reared up and beat its chest. I hadn’t meant to leave a hickey, but I also don’t regret it.
Her mom’s going to know where she got it, too. Even if Mom didn’t call Abby the second Savannah left to spill the tea like her high school crush had just invited her to prom. She’ll know, and that makes my chest heat.
But the Molly thing. Ugh.
One of the lines of tape on my stick are crooked so I have to pull off a couple rows and do it over again. Like the tape, my head’s not on straight either, and I need it to be on straight, dammit. The Snow Pirates are going to be out for blood on the ice, and I really have to keep my wits about me.
The last thing I need is to get benched—or worse, lose my C because I’m unfocused and dropping the ball—or puck, I guess.
Thankfully, no one is paying too much attention to me, because it takes three more tries to tape the blade of my stick. If that’s not a sign of looming catastrophe, I dunno what is. I’ve been taping my own stick since I was four years old. I can do it in my sleep.
Shit.
This is going to be a monumental fucking disaster.
* * *
This is bad. This is very, very bad. It’s like there are six crazed bulls dressed in Snow Pirates shirts on the ice at all times. But instead of a red flag, they’re charging at every UCR player that comes off the bench.
Scott Raine took a hit so bad he needed his shoulder popped back in by the trainer. Our very own Bash Brothers, Artemis and Apollo, have barely left the ice all night, and Ares’s skill is being thoroughly tested. Lincoln Scott’s slapshot is brutal, and he’s hit at least two bottle rockets so far—one of which required Ares to get a new water bottle.
It’s dog eat dog out there.
We’re down by one, but I’m not too worried. The Snow Pirates are bringing the brawn, but we have speed and skill on our side. And no offense to the home team, but we have the better netminder, too.
Coach calls a time out. He wants to put me out on a line I don’t usually play with to see if we can face down the Snow Pirates’ wall of muscle with some of our own. My head says Raine would be the better choice, but my heart flexes that Coach thinks I can pull it off and stand up to the Destructo brothers—Hook and Stewart.
As soon as I step on the ice Hook heads my way. He digs me with his shoulder as he passes but I hold steady. Thank fuck. Falling on my ass would result in lifelong ridicule by the home fans. They’d never let it go.
Luca Hook settles next to me for the faceoff. We’re both bent forward, leaning low. Artemis has my back, so I know no matter what goes down on this shift, I’m not going to be left out to dry.
The ref leans over Slater Goodwin and the rookie Snow Pirate, Theo, puck in hand. If I was a betting man I’d say Slater has it in the bag, but I’ve heard rumors about the hot shot rookie and how quick he can be off the draw.
“Molly Morrison says you have a lil peen,” Hook tells me.
