Oh, this bitch wants to play?
I launch myself at him, ready to claw his fucking eyes out. Suddenly, strong arms wrap around my chest from behind, pulling me back into a solid wall of muscle—which any other time, yes, please. But not now. "Let me go!"
"Merci, stop—" Zach tightens his hold on me as I thrash around, his low voice rasping against my ear.
But I'm not done. Not even close.
Viktor is still smirking at me, so I kick out hard, my foot connecting with his face with a satisfying crunch. Blood spurts from his nose as his head snaps back, the goalie mask falling off his head and onto the to the floor.
“Merci!” Zach growls, tightening his hold. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I am calm!” I continue to squirm, trying to get free. “This is me calm!”
He hauls me back a few more steps, keeping a firm grip on me like I’m some kind of rabid animal. Which, okay, fair. I might be losing my shit a little.
"Why are you even in here?" Zach's breath is hot and agitated.
"Because I was worried, dickhead. But clearly your boyfriend has it all under control."
A deep chuckle rumbles through Zach's chest. "He’s not my boyfriend."
"Could've fooled me with the way he—"
"Novotny’s mine." A deep voice booms from beside us. I turn to see one of the coaches standing there, arms crossed. "And you're not allowed in here. Get out. Now.”
While that should be a relief, it isn’t. Because the blond jackass goalie’s comment is stuck inside my brain on a loop.
They’ve fucked.
I look at Viktor, baring my teeth and snarling. Too bad I didn’t knock any of his teeth out when I kicked him.
Zach releases me, only to grab my arm, then steers me toward the door. “Let’s go.”
"Are you okay?" I blurt out, hating how concerned I sound. "That hit looked bad and—"
He pushes me into the hallway, his dark eyes raking over the jersey I’m wearing before he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. "I'll deal with you later."
My heart races, my skin tingling from where his breath ghosted over my skin. Before I can say a word, he walks back inside and the door closes in my face.
I should be pissed off.
Mortified even. I caused a spectacle, sure, but I wouldn’t change anything about the last five minutes.
Well . . . maybe I would’ve tried to land a second kick.
But I’m also obsessing over Zach’s“deal with me later”warning—a threat and a promise perfectly interwoven. I shiver down to the tips of my toes, my dick twitching.
God help me. I’m so screwed.
Chapter 13
Zach
Coach Harper’s office door slams behind us with enough force to rattle the blinds. Viktor drops into one of the leather chairs, lounging like he’s on a beach somewhere, blood still dripping from his nose. I remain standing, crossing my arms over my chest. My fingers curl into my biceps, and I focus on the slight pressure, on the way it grounds me.
"What the actual fuck was that?" Coach Harper’s voice is low and controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my jaw clench. "Viktor, why the hell did you get involved again? Weren't you explicitly told to stay out of his shit after your mother found out what the fuck the two of you did in Miami?"
Viktor smirks, a little devilish glint in his eye, as he tosses the tissues into a nearby waste basket. “Relax, Becks. Merci just gave me a little love tap.”
