Page 66 of Ice King

I wasn’t entirely certain whether to think of his words as a compliment or a criticism. “A wolf thing?”

“Maybe,” he growled. “I guess I’ll have to settle for you taping me instead.”

“That I can do and without anyone knowing since you’re trying to keep this a secret. But if you hurt yourself any further, so help me God, I will tell Coach Stryker.”

He lifted his head, nodding once. “Deal.”

I stuck my hand out, trying to be nonchalant. “Friends?” While I couldn’t tell what his reaction meant, I knew drawing the line between us was necessary. Or things could get very messy.

His tongue dragged across his lip before he accepted the gesture, squeezing my hand instead of shaking. “Deal. For now. But you won’t tell a soul.”

I don’t know how he thought he was going to hide being taped up, but at this point, I couldn’t worry about that.

“Alright.” It would need to be good enough. “Now, why were you fighting? I thought you wanted to look sexy for the thousands of pictures that will be taken of you.”

“Kendrick,” the coach said from a huddle he was having with a couple of the other players.

When he didn’t open his mouth, I knew instantly. “Shit. The night at the bar. That’s why.”

“He didn’t like I’d tossed a couple of his boys over you. Truth is, I’d suffer this pain all over again if it meant protecting you.”

With that, he got up and walked away.

And I was left with a series of very strange feelings replacing the butterflies.

* * *

I found myself panting, I was in such a state. With only two minutes left in the last period, I’d made my way toward the edgeof the ice, peering through the plexiglass with my hand against it.

Wishing and hoping.

“Get off the ice, you fucking shifter!” some asshole yelled from behind me.

I was already annoyed enough. The bastard really didn’t want to get under my skin. Turning, I threw him a hate-filled look that should send him to the depths of hell. Sadly, he wasn’t the only one churning and burning horrible expressions mostly for one member of the team.

Ford.

As an auxiliary team member, I had a designated seat near the player’s bench, a term I’d only learned a couple of hours earlier, I remained agitated, worried that the tape I’d wrapped around him wouldn’t hold.

Thousands of people filled the stands and sadly, not nearly enough of them were rooting for the Seattle Wild.

“Shut up,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down.

“Hey, dog boy. Go find another job,” some else screamed so loudly that hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Ugh. Instagram is getting ugly,” Roxanne said from beside me, trying to shove the phone into my face.

She’d given up taking photographs because at the rate it was going, the game would be called a bloodbath. Unless Ford pulled off a miracle, the team would suffer a loss.

I shook my head, refusing to look at the hate-filled bullshit. “Why isn’t your dad putting in another center?”

Her eyes opened wide. “My, haven’t we learned more about the game. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. Maybe pressure from somebody to keep Ford on the ice.”

“Why would they do that?” I demanded, certainly not angry with her.

Roxanne half huffed, half laughed. “Whoa. Something has majorly changed between the two of you. It’s almost as if you two like each other. I meanlike-like.”

“That’s not even an expression.” Wow. I was tense, my words clipped.