Page 23 of Puck Me Back to Life

Dante smirks. “No wonder.”

I stare at him. “No wonder what?”

“No wonder why you're acting so feral.”

I nearly choke. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Dante starts counting on his fingers. “You're grumpier than usual.”

“It's impossible not to be grumpy with you always yapping at me.”

“You almost murdered a rookie for making a joke.”

I grit my teeth, “He deserved it.”

“You got into a fight on opening night.”

“Okay, he deserved that too.”

“And you spend half of practice staring at Hayes.”

My head snaps toward him.

Dante grins. The bastard.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I don't,” I hiss, checking to see if anyone is listening.

I hate how amused he looks. The conversation is rapidly becoming a threat to national security.

“I'm just worried about the guy. He looks like a kicked puppy. Also, he got injured in the last game.”

The excuse sounds weak even to me.

Dante's grin widens. “I don't remember him injuring his ass.”

I elbow him in the stomach. “Shut up.”

My eyes flick to Hayes stall. His stuff is there but he isn't. Thank God. “I was just making sure he was okay.”

“That's adorable.”

I throw a roll of tape at his head. This has become a recurring theme in our friendship.

Dante ducks while laughing. “You have a crush.”

“I don't.”

“You absolutely do. Your ears are turning pink.”

I stand. Mostly because staying seated increases the chances of homicide.

Dante continues laughing. The sound follows me halfway across the locker room. The annoying part is that I can't entirely dismiss what he said.

Not because I have a crush. Because that's ridiculous; I'm a fucking grown man.