Harry
Fuck. She’s touching herself.
Breadstick
She’s so wet for us
GlowStick
I zoomed in on your face. So pretty when you come.
Kane
You like the show?
Harry
Like it? I’m ready to break into your dorm and finish the job.
Breadstick
Next time my hand’s the one on your clit, not yours.
GlowStick
And you’re going to moan our names for the camera.
Kane
“Oh fuck, GlowStick!” Yeah, that has a nice ring to it.
Chapter Ten
Leila
I push through the double doors of the ice rink, my skate bag slung over my shoulder and a knot in my stomach. Coach Cameron had practically begged me to do this lesson after catching part of my practice session last week, and despite every instinct screaming this was a bad idea, I’d eventually said yes.
The familiar smell of ice and cold air hits me, but instead of the usual calm it brings, my cheeks flush with heat. Memories from a few nights ago hit me; the chase across the ice with three masked men, the way...
“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, adjusting my ponytail and trying to focus on why I’m actually here.
The Gravepoint hockey team is already on the ice doing warmup drills when I emerge from the tunnel. I recognize most of them, and my stomach does a little flip when I spot three familiar figures among the group. Knox, Riven, and Jagger are spread out across the ice, going through their usual pre-practice routine.
Coach Cameron comes over when he sees me. “Leila, thank god. I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” I admit, lacing up my skates on the bench. “I doubt I will be welcomed with open arms.”
“Trust me, they need this more than they’ll admit.” He helps me onto the ice, then turns to address his team. “Eyes up, boys. This is Leila Kane. She’s a figure skater, and before you laugh, she could outskate half of you blindfolded. Division one or not, your edge work’s been sloppy, and it shows in your transitions. She’s here to clean that up. And Riven”—the coach fixes him with a pointed look—“this matters for you most. Your recoveries are too slow out of the crease. You want faster saves, sharper pushes? Then you listen to her.”
There is some grumbling from a few players, and I can see the skeptical looks on their faces. One of the forwards, a guy with bleached tips who I think is named Tyler, raises his hand.
“Coach, isn’t she related to the Kane brothers from Stormhaven? What’s stopping her from going back to them with our strategies?”
His question hits a nerve, and I turn around to face the team, my hands planted on my hips. “You want to know why my brothers are so good?” I ask, my voice carrying across the ice. “Because they don’t bitch about taking lessons from a girl or a figure skater. They do whatever needs to be done to be the best. But hey, if you think your edge work is already perfect, feel free to keep up with those sloppy transitions that are costing you the game.”
I hear a familiar laugh. Knox is trying to hide his grin behind his glove, while Jagger looks like he’s enjoying the show entirely too much.
“Damn, Tyler,” Jagger mocks. “She just called you out harder than Coach ever has.”
