Asnarl rips from me as I tear down the ice, the cold breezing past my cheeks. One Boston Beast swerves toward me, but I twist at the right second to dodge him and pass the center line.
There’s no stopping me now.
We have a minute left. and we’re tied.
I have two more defensemen and the goalie to get through, and two Scented Scorpion forwards at my back.
I’m the oldest player on the team, and we’re playing a home game at the Pinnacle Arena in Nashville, so I have to keep proving my worth.
With my jaw grit, ice under my skates, a feint here, a quick spin there, and suddenly I’m clear through the Beasts’ defense line with the net in sight. The goalie is ready, spreading himself out, but I’m not going high. The bottom right will do it. I’ve practiced this drill so many damn times I’ll embarrass myself if I don’t get the shot.
I aim for the goal post, and I’m so close. Two seconds. One second. Swinging my stick back and angling it, I hit the puck.
I swear I’ve got it. Until a sudden blur of red, white, and black shoots in from my left.
I yell as the blur stops the puck, and I’m thrown off my stride as Number 43 swoops in and sends the puck flying to the left just as the goalie leaps right.
Still sailing forward, the music booms through the Pinnacle Arena as the announcer calls it.
“That’s Kane Moretti for the Scented Scorpions!”
People are chanting his name as he swoops clockwise around the outside of the rink, and fury blazes inside me. I’m shaking, almost vibrating, skating anti-clockwise with my focus on him.
I even catch a fan holding up a sign with Kane’s face and number scrawled over it. Everyone is cheering for him, for a shot which should have been mine.
I’m looking for Coach Miles so I can skate over and have some words. But then Kane sails toward me. It’s the last thing I need when I’m fuming so hard my skull feels like it’s going to pop with pressure.
Every damn time. Every single time he can, Kane finds a way to piss me off. It doesn’t matter if it’s practice, the locker rooms,or a team night out. Everything about him seems geared to driving me insane. And there’s only so much I can take.
I clench my stick in my hands as I catch his grin under the bright lights as he grows closer. He’s coming at me with his arms stretched like he’s going in for a hug. But no fucking way.
“You bastard!” I shout.
I don’t hesitate as I draw my stick horizontal. The second he’s close, I go for it. One sharp thrust to his chest does it, throwing him back hard against the ice.
I tip forward, flying down with him, my fist raised as I slam it into his left shoulder. With his thick padding, it’ll do nothing more than leave him with a bruise, but it makes me feel good.
“That was my goal! I had that!” I roar, swinging my fist again, aiming for his ribs. His body bounces as it connects. He laughs as I meet his bright eyes, my rage pouring through me.
His boyish smile makes everything worse.
“You were going to miss. I was just helping,” he gasps.
“Help, my ass!” I growl as another punch hits his right shoulder. I want to fuck up his face like he had all those years ago when he sent a puck straight into my nose and stole my sense of smell and taste. But it’s the one thing I won’t do. No matter how many fights I get into, I’ll never risk taking that away from someone else, no matter how much my fury grips me.
“I don’t need your help!” I hiss, trying to keep up my anger, despite how I’m suddenly aware I’ve mounted him, and my ass is sitting over his cock.
Kane lifts his hands to grab my biceps, and he gives me a look I don’t want to see, especially out on the ice.
His laugh turns into a smirk before he licks his lips and thrusts his hips upward, grinding against me. Then I’m the one fixed in place as he tugs my arms to keep me still. Even with jockstraps blocking us, the feeling of being on top of Kane sends my heartsky-rocketing, and another snarl tears from me as my desire surges.
I can’t scent him, but I fucking know he’s rubbing his lavender all over me. I haven’t scented anything for ten years, and his is one of the few scents I still remember vividly.
“You just wanted to get me under you this whole time, didn’t you, Timber? That’s why you made the shot. Maybe we can find another way to help with your anger? You know I won’t say no if you ask,” he purrs.
Kane is thirteen years younger than me and thirteen times as cocky, and I can’t stand the way his voice pitches low whenever he teases me.
“Kane.” I shove at him again. “Stop, or I swear I’m going to kill you now.”
