Actually, no—I’ve decided. Ihatethem. They’re officially on my shit list, right under his smug little smirks and that rough, deep voice that sounds like gravel having an orgasm.
Oh, and his physique. Loathe it. Absolutely, violently loathe it.
He’s all muscle and precision—annoyingly efficient. Even when he pretends he doesn’t care, he’s coiled and controlled.
Even his breathing looks disciplined.
What kind of psychopath breatheson purposelike that?
Someone like Julian and Marcus fucking Osborn, apparently.
“The press would have a field day if they could snap a picture of this moment.” He’s circling me, stick and helmet in hand. “Osborn versus Armstrong. The league’s beast and prince come face to face.”
“Beast.” I scoff. “Ridiculous.”
“You wearing a Vipers jersey for our one-on-one is what’s ridiculous.” He stops in front of me, his voice turning cold. “Lose it.”
“Why? Afraid it’ll blind you with all its glory?”
“I just don’t want the reminder that you’re supposed to be my enemy.”
“Oh no, we can’t have that. Wouldn’t want to ruin your warm, fuzzy feelings for me.”
“Warm, no. Fuzzy, maybe.”
I slam my stick against his chest, chomping down onthat uncomfortable, painful feeling rising in my chest. “Stop flirting.”
“Was I?”
“Yes, you were, and I’m telling you it won’t work.”
“Don’t go breaking my heart.”
“You’d need to have one in the first place.”
“Ouch.” He smiles, amusement rolling off him in waves. No clue why he finds these exchanges entertaining when all I get is a migraine and the urge to bash his head in.
“Will you remove it?” He reaches out. “Or do you need my help?”
I glide back before he touches me.
He remains still but narrows his eyes the slightest bit, as if he’s cracking me open and attempting to see inside me.
Good luck coming out of that clusterfuck alive.
“I’m not removing my jersey.” I pull my helmet down over my head and check my gloves one final time. “You ready to go down?”
“Rules?”
“No violent hits as neither of us is wearing pads, and I’m sure you don’t want to end up with an injury in the heat of the season.”
“Deal. What format should we do?”
“Let’s play who can score three goals first.”
“I prefer it to be more than that, but I can manage.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
