We need to pull a win out of this game, and I need to be a part of that considering I was in time out for a double minor.
Finley crosses the line, passes it to Artemis who passes it back to Finley. They’re two intimidating fuckers guarding that blue line in front of Ares. The puck is picked from Finley and the attacker slips between our defensive line, right in front of Ares. He makes two big saves, a third, the puck is still loose. Ares is on the ice, legs spread in the splits as he frantically tries to keep the puck from the net.
He pulls out maybe six saves in a row before Artemis gets his stick to it and passes it forward. We’ve been close a couple times, but close only matters in games like horseshoes. We need a damn goal.
I pick up the loose puck and when I cross the line into the Wolves’ zone, I’m still onside. Apollo is a few feet ahead, slapping his stick on the ice with a frantic aggression, calling for the puck.
Double checking he is where I think he is, I sail the puck to my Captain, he shoots and tips it right into the back of the net between the goalie’s legs. A fucking five-hole. The netminder is going to want that one back. It was a shaky goal at best.
But, a goal is a goal. I’ll take it any way it comes.
We win in overtime, by the skin of our teeth. It wasn’t pretty, but we claimed the ‘W’ and by the time I drag my ass to the dorms, I’m dead on my feet. My legs are as heavy as lead, my body is tense, and even my brain hurts.
When a throat clears, I can’t help groaning. Without looking up, I know she’s standing outside my room, waiting for me like a fucking creeper.
“You piece of shit.” It takes her half a second to close the distance, her index finger jabbing into my pec as she punctuates what will undoubtedly be a tirade.
Ignoring her, I jam my key in the door, turn it, and push it open. If she’s going to keep yammering on at me, I’m going to need to ensure I have an easy escape route.
“What the fuck was that?”
I hold up my hand. “Can you just, not? Please?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s been a night. I’m exhausted.”
“A night?” She scoffs. “It’s been a night, he says. I’ll fucking say it’s been a night, you almost took his nose off his fucking face.”
She’s got the same fire in her eyes that I saw in her brother’s on the ice earlier. But in Penelope, it’s hot as hell. I’m half-tempted to ask who she’s talking about, but she really would skewer me if I did.
Exhausted, and wrung out from the ball-busting Coach gave me after the game, I should let it go. I should drop it, walk through the open door to my room, and lock it behind me.
But from the way her nostrils flare, to the way her teeth are gritted and the muscles in her face flicker with rage, she’s a fire goddess standing in front of me, and I can’t help but douse her in gasoline.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Pitstop, would you shut up and give it a rest? It’s part of the game.” My nonchalance is what pushes her over the edge. I feel—more than see—the moment she snaps as the air around her shimmers with rage.
“That’s the thing with you Myers’s, isn’t it? No fucking regard for anyone else but yourself.” She advances on me, pulling hershoulders back, and sneering like some deliciously beautiful dragon.
I’m ready to burn in her fire.
“Who gives a shit if your actions impact someone else? Who cares if poor bystanders get hurt? Who cares if their careers are affected? Right? As long as it doesn’t come back on you, it’s fair game.” She’s pushing me backward with her finger. I’m undoubtedly going to have bruises from the aggression of her jabs.
We’re both standing in my room, she’s blocking the way out. Her words are spat out with such fiery hatred, such bitter loathing, I’m starting to wonder what this is all truly about. It feels like genuine disgust, real revulsion.
It feels personal.
Before I can ask, she picks up her scolding. “Well, listen here, bucko. That’s not how the real world works.” She’s yelling pretty good, right now. “For us mere mortals, there are consequences to our actions. And guess what? You’re not above anyone else, you’re not above the rules, no matter what you might think.” She sneers. “And you owe Oli a fucking apology.”
She’s staring me down like a viper ready to strike. Her body is taut, her face flushed, and her eyes wild. She’s never looked so gorgeous, and I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my whole life.
“Are you done?”
She’s right, I do owe Lindstrom an apology, and part of me feels like getting my phone out and giving it to him right here and now just to shut her up and see what she’d grouse about next.
She glares at me. “Maybe.”
I step toward her. It’s my turn now.
She holds her hand up. “Stop.”
I sigh, pulling my phone out of my dress pants. “What’s his number?”
