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"You realize he’s going to win another bet?" Finn cautions.
"And I’m going to make him give me another hundred push-ups if he does that."
Finn barks out a laugh. "Easy, old man, you’re losing your sense of humor.
"Never had one to begin with. It’s why I’m called Stone, remember?" I begin to walk toward the men when she rises up on tip toe.
She kisses Manning on his cheek, pats Caspian on his shoulder, and nods at Jax and Jagger before making her way through the crowd and toward the hallway that leads in the direction of the ladies' room. As I pass the team, they grin at me.
"Better be careful, Stone, she might be too much for you to handle," Caspian scoffs.
"You’d better be careful,Prick, or the practice sessions might gettoomuch for you to handle." I head after her.
"Wait, did he say, Prick? Why the fuck did he say, Prick? It’d better not be my fucking call-sign. Hey Stone, how is it you get to pick your call-sign but the rest of us don’t?" Caspian calls out after me.
"Because I’m the captain." I raise my finger over my shoulder.
"I need to lodge a protest. " His irate voice follows me.
"Noted and dismissed," I drawl, then continue on in the direction she disappeared.
That’s what he gets for coming onto my girl—Whoa, hold on, not my girl. She's just my roomie. I’m looking out for my roommate. That’s allowed, right?
I head down the hallway, and down the corridor toward the restrooms. I spot her at the far end. Her back is to me and she’s talking to a man who looks somewhat familiar. As I draw closer, she tries to brush past him, but he places his hand on her hip.
Something inside me snaps: my heart rate accelerates. My feet don’t seem to hit the floor as I hurry toward them. She pushes against his chest, and his smile widens.Mother. Fucker.I draw abreast, then grab him by his neck and throw him into the wall.
"Get away from her," I growl.
13
Gio
One moment, I’m trying to get away from my ex—what is he doing in London, anyway? And why is he at the 7A Club? The next, Rick has thrown him against the wall. He has his fingers wrapped around his neck as he glares at the other man. "You dare touch her, asshole?"
Dennis’ eyes bug out. He’s a little shorter than Rick, but he makes up for it with his bulk, which as I know, is not all muscle. The man’s lazy enough to carry more than the requisite body fat, and yet, it hasn’t interfered with his role as a defenseman. He has the size to block an opponent's shot and the strength to take the puck away and start play in the opposite direction.
Rick, on the other hand, is 100% pure muscle. His strength is the kind that allows him to take risks on the ice, allows him to block shots and take the attack when he gains possession of the puck. Also he’s angry. Very angry. The kind of
anger that gives him the edge. Tension thrums off of him, his entire body vibrating with the kind of rage that signals things are going to go south… And fast. He must cut off the airflow because Dennis claws at Rick’s forearm. His features slowly turn from red to purple. Rick lifts his other fist, and the skin across his knuckles stretches white. He pulls it back, and I know without a doubt, if he punches Dennis in the face, it’s going to escalate into something that could result in Rick being disqualified from playing. And that’s only going to hurt him.
So, I jump forward and grab his upper arm. "Stop."
His biceps flex under my fingers, and holy hell, it feels like I’m clinging to a bolt of lightning, attempting to defuse its power. He stays poised, nostrils flared; the tips of his ears have turned white, a clear sign he's so angry, he’s close to losing control. His chest heaves, the sinews of his throat stand out in prominence under his skin, but he stops. He doesn’t lower his arm, but he pauses with his fist mere centimeters from making contact with Dennis’ nose.
"Rick, let him go." I imbue my voice with a calmness I don't feel.
The pulse at the base of his neck jumps. It’s the only sign he’s heard me. Every other part of his body is a crackling ball of tension, seconds from detonating in a roar of thunder.
"Rick, please," I implore.
He blinks and begins to lower his hand. He loosens his hold on Dennis, and the bastard coughs. His gaze darts from Rick to me, then back to Rick. He never was very smart. "Pussy-whipped, huh? You do realize she was mine first and—"
With a growl, Rick releases him, only to curl the fingers of his hand into a fist, on the arm I’m not hanging onto, and slams it into Dennis’ face.
* * *
"You beat up the captain of a rival team?" Edward glares at Mr. Cannot-Keep-His-Temper-In-Check across the floor of the office adjoining the 7A bar.
