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“We live on opposite sides of the country. It’s going to be a nightmare to be that far away from you.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m transferring to Hawthorne U next semester.”
I lift my head again. “What? How’s that possible?”
“I told you they tried to recruit me, right?”
“Yeah, but you went to Clayton U instead.”
“Well, that’s not the whole story.” He smiles like the cat who ate the canary. “I deferred my acceptance to Hawthorne to Spring semester, and they agreed to wait. The coach at Clayton U knew I’d be there for one semester, and he didn’t care. I was only there to replace one of their star players who got injured.”
“Are you saying you always knew you’d be coming to Hawthorne U and didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
My brows furrow. “What if I didn’t want anything to do with you?”
He narrows his eyes. “I’d make you want me, kitty cat. We were always meant to be together.”
“Make me, huh?”
Fast as a cobra, he rolls over me, nudging my legs open. “Yes, kitty cat, using any means necessary.” He kisses me at the same time that he enters me, sliding in with ease.
Is it crazy that I love the fact he was prepared to doanythingto be with me? Most people would say so. But I’m not like anyone else, and neither is Eric. That’s why he’s my person, my forever.
nineteen
Valerie–ONE MONTH LATER
Tonight is the first time I’ve attended a hockey game since I started at Hawthorne U. After what Hansen did to me, I developed an aversion to the sport. But now that I’m with Eric—who is a fucking god on the ice, and I had no idea—I couldn’t blame an entire sport for the actions of one asshole. Besides, Hansen’s rotting in hell now with his two friends and his psycho sister. On the few occasions I think about them, I smile, remembering their gruesome deaths. Carol’s was my favorite.
The Hellions are winning four to three against the Jackals—Eric’s former team—and I can tell some of the players aren’t happy to be losing. The game has gotten super intense in the last five minutes, with harder checks against the boards and a couple altercations. One of the players from Clayton U tries to punch Eric in the face but misses. Eric glowers at him, and only I know that his death glare could actually mean death.
I memorize the player’s name and jersey number—Kodiak, number twenty-eight. Eric won’t kill him—he really tries to stick to his rules. Unless he finds out the guy is doing something amoral, then he’ll put him on the list. I don’t have the same reservations, but out of respect for Eric and to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, I adhere to his strict moral code too. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something nasty to player twenty-eight. Diarrhea on his trip back to New York would be a doozy.
Eric is a right-winger, meaning he’s always gunning for the goal. He’s so damn fast he zooms across the ice like a comet. He hasn’t scored yet, but he’s assisted in the last two goals. He’s thirsty for it though. His competitive nature is almost as intense as mine.
His chance comes during a power play for the other team. He intercepts the puck and takes off toward Clayton U’s defensive zone. The goalie tenses, preparing for the shot. Eric pulls his stick all the way back, as if he’s going to send a slap shot toward the goal, only to slow down at the last second, carrying the puck at the end of his stick and shooting from the other side. The puck hits the back of the net, leaving the goalie stupefied.
That’s my man.
The horn blows loudly in the arena, and the crowd goes wild. I remain sitting and take a pull of my soda through the straw, hiding my smirk.
The intensity of the noise doesn’t die down. It’s the last minute of the game, and now Clayton U has an empty net. It’s pointless. No matter how aggressively they play or how vicious their checks turn, they can’t score. Patrick Walsh, our goalie, is a mean son of a bitch, and he guards his domain with ruthless focus. When one of the Clayton U players keeps poking at him after he gloved the puck, he goes wild and punches the asshole, knocking him down.
The referee finally blows the whistle, but he can’t avoid the chaos that follows. All I see are punches and shoves. I lose sight of Eric in the melee, but I’m not worried. He’s right at home. The more violent the game gets, the more he thrives.
The fight finally ends and the teams go their separate ways. The loser Jackals quickly head to the dressing room with their tails between their legs, whereas the Hellions line up to thank their goalie.
Eric bumps his helmet with Patrick’s and taps his shoulder in an affectionate way. I always pegged Eric as an antisocial grump like me, but he’s hit it off with his new teammates. I suspect some of them might share similar interests to ours, but it’s too soon to tell. It’s not like serial killers have social clubs where we share tips on the best ways to kill and dispose of bodies without getting caught.
Before Eric leaves the ice, he removes his helmet and glances at the crowd, looking for me. I don’t get up from my seat or wave like a maniac, but he finds me just the same and smiles. Blood is dripping from a cut over his left eyebrow, and the sight makes me all hot and bothered. Eric, covered in blood, is one of my favorite things, and I can’t wait for tonight’s surprise.
* * *
ERIC
Valerie and I have been living together since I transferred to Hawthorne U. I had no desire to share a dorm room with a stranger, and she was on the verge of killing her roommate for real.
