Marcus fucking Osborn.
He messed with the wrong person tonight.
As he gets the puck, I square up to him. “Good evening, bitch. Your night ends here.”
“Says who?”
“The scoreboard when I’m done with your sorry ass.”
“Bet?” He tries to skate around me, but I check him so violently, he groans but still passes the puck.
I stay on him because he’s their leading scorer. Their ace, really. Freak plays defense and offense as if he cloned himself overnight, which is annoying—for us, not them. Centers aren’t supposed to be good at both. I mean, they are, but they’re usually better at one or the other. Hell, even Kane leans toward defense, and Kane’s basically a hockey Terminator. But this jackass? He shows up at both sides of the rink, acting like he’s trying to win Employee of the Month.
A dream two-way center, so to speak. He probably has all the hotshot NHL coaches and agents drooling to have him on board.
And I want to crush that.
Him.
I want to slice him open and see what lurks behind the facade carved by God’s worst sense of humor.
We’re dancing around each other as he tries to get past me.
Not going to happen.
I don’t even like defense, but today, I’ve decided I’ll humble this peasant so he can retreat to whatever hole he crawled out of with his tail tucked neatly between his legs.
“Tell me, Osborn.” I skate in front of him, keeping up with his fluid movements. It comes naturally to me because I’m lithe, but how the hell can he move like that with a giant’s frame?
“Anything, princeling.”
“Is your mama still in the business of riding rich guys’ dicks? Because I have a huge cock she can sit on all night. I’ll pay her for the trouble, too, so that she can buy you a new stick.”
His smile falters. Mine widens.
That’s it.
Break for me, Osborn.
Just like the rest of them.
He knocks his helmet against mine, and I hold him in place, pushing as hard as he does.
This is how it’ll go. Osborn will hit me, and we’ll have the best power play while he sits in the box like a sad kicked puppy.
His breath spills into mine, a rush of adrenaline and raw heat blending with the wild hum of the crowd around us. Their roars thrum beneath my skin like fuel.
“I have a better idea.” He gets close, so close his knee is shoved between mine, and despite the protective gear, it’s as if he’s kneeing me in the fucking balls.
His voice dips closer to a murmur, low enough to raise the hairs at the back of my neck.
“Youshould sit on my huge cock, Armstrong. If you’re good enough, I might pay you the rate of a low-rent whore.”
This fucking?—
I lunge at him, hitting him not so cleanly, and the whistle screams like it’s personally offended. At that exact moment, Osborn checks me into the boards so hard, it rattles beneath our weight as the crowd loses its mind.
My ears start ringing, the whole arena sounding like it’s buried somewhere underground, and my vision goes fuzzy as he lifts me.
