Viktor
The moment my skates hit the ice, the roar of the crowd crashes over me like a tidal wave. It's electric, intoxicating—the first official game of the season, and it's all eyes on us.
On me.
Quinnipiac's got some new rookie they think is hot shit.
Please.
I've seen the kid play. He's fast, but he's gonna learn quickly that speed won't save him from getting crushed out here. Welcome to hell, fresh meat.
But as I skate to the net, everything’s different. It’s our first game without Alexei. My eyes drift to the seats right behind me and, sure enough, my BFF is right there with his two friends.
Eli’s waving with a stupid grin on his face, wearing his custom sweatshirt with Alexei’s number on it.
What a dork.
I smile and wave back, then tap my helmet, feeling the familiar crinkle of the burnt Ace of Spades card tucked inside. My lucky charm. A reminder of the time Alexei and I got shitfaced on some vodka and nearly set ourselves on fire while playing poker.
Mom almost murdered me, but it was so worth it. Played a game the next day with that charred card in my helmet and got my first fucking shutout. Been playing with it in my helmet ever since.
After stretching, I go about tearing up the ice in the crease, but I can't help sneaking a peek at the bench.Coach Harper, that fucker. He's been ignoring me since that shit in his office, when he had me on my knees, choking on his dick.
The way he just used me, dominated me . . . Fuck, it was hot. The man is definitely into men. Didn’t even bat an eye about shoving his dick into my mouth.
And he called me Chaos. A nickname. My stomach flutters at the memory.
Thought I was finally winning him over, but then he just walked away like it was nothing.
Fucking typical.
I'm used to being the center of attention. I crave it, need it like I need fucking air. But I'm also used to being left behind. Rejected. Abandoned. I'm always too much, too crazy, too intense for anyone to handle. Story of my goddamn life.
And Beckett?
He's just the latest asshole to make me feel that way.
Jackson skates over and taps my pads with his stick. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
“Fuck off.”
He straightens up, brows pinched and lips pressed into a tight line. “Uh, Novy, you okay?”
Connor and Zach skate over, and Connor looks at Jackson. “What’s going on?”
“He’s . . . gloomy.”
The three stare at me and I do some side-to-sides, warming up my legs and ignoring them. While I normally share my sexual escapades the way people talk about the weather, this time I don’t.
And I’m not sure why. They already know I have a thing for our new coach. Maybe it's because, for once, someone managed to outplay me at my own game. It's both infuriating and intoxicating.
Especially after tasting him, feeling his hands in my hair, his dick down my throat. Fuck, just thinking about it makes me hard.
I want more.
Need more.
Coach Nieminen calls us in for the pep talk, saving me from the impending interrogation. We skate to the bench, but I hang at the back, only half-listening, my eyes glued to our assistant coach. Fucker won’t even look at me.
