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“Get your head out of your ass,” he barks at me.
“The fighting? They cross-checked me, and they’re pulling all kinds of shit that they’re not getting penalties for.” I protest. “We can’t let them walk all over us.”
“Not the fighting, you asshole.” Coach Hartley glares. “You’re our top scorer, and you’ve scored once tonight. What the hell are you even doing on the ice? Are you drinking tonight? We’re getting our asses handed to us by the Megs, and the Megs suck donkey balls.”
“I’m not drinking, and I’ll take a test any time you ask.” I say angrily. Damn it, I haven’t touched a drop in many, many months. If I’m going to get shit, I’d like to have done something bad to have earned it.
He glares at me. “Damn right you will. Now put your big girl panties on and get back in the game, and actually play this fucking time.”
I skate onto the ice, cursing, but he’s right. I’m playing worse than I ever have, and we only have minutes left in the game. It isn’t fair to my teammates, and it’s not fair to the crowd who came to see us give our all.
Play is stopped at the moment for a TV time-out. There’s only one thing to do—because my pride doesn’t want me to admit it, but I know what the problem is.
I skate across the rink and rap on the glass.
Rowan is sitting there, and there’s an angry-looking blonde on the other side. As soon as the blonde sees me, she leaps to her feet, wildly excited. “Mason. Hey baby. There you are.” she squeals. “I’ve missed you.” She shoots a look of smirking triumph at Rowan. I have no idea what is going on there, but I’ve never seen her before in my life. I may have gone through my man-whore phase, but I never forget a face.
I ignore her and rap on the glass, gesturing at Rowan. Rowan looks up and gives me a surprised wave.
I gesture again, and she stands up. “What’s up?” she asks, leaning on the glass.
“Take your jersey off.”
She pinches the jersey between her fingers and stares down at it, then looks up at me again. “What are you talking about?”
“Just take it off.” I glare at her.
“Why would I do that?” She’s staring at me like I have two heads. So is Cecelia.
“Because you’re my publicist, and that means you can’t wear anyone else’s jersey.” I sound like a childish idiot, and she’s probably going to give me a ton of crap over it next time I see her.
But if she doesn’t take that shirt off, the game is lost. And I’ll have let down every single Rovers fan who came to see us tonight.
“Hey.” the blonde pipes up, glowering at Rowan. “You said you were his lawyer.”
“She’s both.” I bark at her. I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I am going to quiz Rowan about this later, but right now, I am focused on one thing. Winning.
“I’m not a family member.” Rowan protests. “What difference does it make? Why do you even care?”
“I’ll take off my shirt for you.” the blonde cries out eagerly.
“For the love of God, don’t. And stay out of this,” I snap at her, and she sinks back into her seat, pouting. “Rowan, it’s messing with my head that you’re wearing the shirt. And it’s affecting the game. Take it off or so help me God ...” I let the threat dangle in the chill air.
“What’ll you do?” she challenges me.
I grin fiercely. “I’ll make your job so much harder.”
Her eyes go wide, and she slips the jersey off in one swift motion.
She’s wearing a white blouse underneath the jersey, and her nipples are rock hard. My gaze drifts down there, and my eyebrows shoot up. She crosses her arms over her chest, scowling at me. Then I look up and catch her eye.
Okay, I’m busted checking out her ta-tas.
But she’s busted too.
Because now I know what I suspected all along. Our fights turn her on. She flips me the bird, but I just grin wider. I laugh as I return to the face-off circle.
New determination roars through me, and the Megs are screwed.
