Holding a hand out for him, I tilt my head toward the door. “C’mon, baby. Let’s go watch the game. The blood and violence will make you feel better.”
My friends are playing tonight. There’s no off-season in murder hockey.
Tate stands. The size of him, the sheer magnitude of his presence, those things might always take my breath away. I recognize the look in his eyes, and I understand the head massaging now. Dealing with his security crew has brought his concerns to the forefront.
Or, well, Tate only really ever has one concern. Me.
He moves slow, like the predator he is, the intensity pouring off him, clinging to my skin. Fury burns in his gray eyes juxtaposed with his frosty exterior, his muscles carrying the kind of stillness that comes before violence. Dark hair falls over hisleft eye, shrouding it in shadows, making him look like a reaper come to life.
A large hand shoots out, grabbing the collar of my hockey jersey, twisting until his breath breezes across my face. “Why are you wearing this?”
I wore one of the Voiceless jerseys, the one that still has a letterCon it from the one night I was their captain.
“To s-show support,” I stutter.
Releasing the collar, he jerks the sleeve down, checking for my leather cuff. I haven’t taken it off since, well, the last time I took it off to give to Gideon for safekeeping. His fingers trail over it until they reach my wedding ring, which I wear proudly. We’re not a secret anymore. He made sure the dean at North Point knew that because he wasn’t fucking pretending anymore. I didn’t want to pretend either.
“Take it off,” he demands.
I roll my eyes. “Fuck’s sake, Tate. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not going to sneak down to the damn rink.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine. We don’t have to watch the game. I’d much rather fuck you till your throat’s raw anyway.”
Okay, so he’s in one of those moods.
And normally, I’d rather him fuck me till I’m comatose, but I actually do want to watch the game tonight. With the season over for me, I’ve already got that itch to be back on the ice.
He’s too wound up. He hates that he hasn’t found the breach in his security, and every time he berates a security guard that can’t give him answers, all he wants to do is dig his claws into me further. Make sure no one can take me from him.
Alright, I’ll admit that the jersey was a bad choice, but I didn’t know he’d be doing this when I got here. And isn’t exposure therapy a thing? He’s going to have to get used to me being here, supporting my friends on the ice.
Um, but maybe we can start that therapy another night. He’s staring. Waiting. He’s not going to budge on this one.
“Okay, baby.Okay.Let go, and I’ll take it off.”
But it’s as if his sixth sense has a sixth sense right now. His eyes flick to the still open door. The one Tyler didn’t close behind him.
I didn’t even know I was going to do it until I dart for the open door, his hand narrowly missing my jersey as I fly by. What am I doing? I don’t fucking know. But with Tate riled up like he is, it can only lead to the hottest sex imaginable. Especially if he has to hunt me down.
There we go. That’s what I’m doing. Being the distraction he needs tonight. And that’s exactly what I’ll say when he inevitably catches me. I don’t hear his footsteps behind me, and he hasn’t sent his mini army after me, so that has to mean he’s agreed to play.
My heart pounds with dread alongside my blood, knowing he’s probably planning something. I breeze by Ethan as I sprint down the hallway.
“Where are you?—”
“You didn’t see me,” I shout, even though that man’s loyalty will always be with Tate. This is the worst getaway ever, but there’s no universe in which I’d actually be able to get away from my husband. Or want to. My technique doesn’t matter. I run past patrons and other staff, making my way into the thick of the mob before I slow down. There are several members of security scattered that I recognize. Some in plain clothes now after the breach on Tate’s orders, so they appear as part of the crowd.
I figure he can’t be too pissed at me for coming down here where there are plenty of eyes on me. Stony eyes flash to me, their heads tilting only enough to speak into their shoulder mics. Security is definitely reporting to Tate or Jane or both.
The hum of the many conversations surrounds me, broken by cheers for what’s happening on the ice. The game hasn’t started yet; it’s just a couple of guys on skates beating the shit out of each other. Some new pre-game entertainment Ethan suggested.
There’s still no sign of Tate. Since he knows where I am, maybe he decided not to play after all. I huff a laugh to myself. Yeah, no. He’s playing. He wants me to think he’s not. So, do I hide or take a seat in the crowd?
I pass by the entrance to the dressing rooms. I’d love to stop by and wish my friends a good game. I take a step but then think better of it. Tate will lose his mind. He might finally make good on his threat to lock me in his dungeon.
But there’s shouting, and it’s not of the riled-up crowd variety. Just two people—two familiar people. What the …? I know curiosity killed the cat, but I head down the hallway anyway. I make it to the halfway point where you can either turn right toward the dressing room my friends will be in or left for the other team. There’s a flash of unmistakable amber as his back slams against the wall.
Griffon?
