Page 21 of Vibes

I nod. Okay, he's answering questions more civilized than I expected. “So missing five of six key players…”

“Will screw us early in the season and keep us out of the playoffs,” he says, his brows knitting together. Unlike when he’s joking or amused, right now Lachlan is all business. “I want to go pro. Flynn too. Each of us wants to get into the NHL, and up to this point, things seemed to be going well. Scouts can show up to any game they want. It looks really damn bad if we’re all missing.”

I wince. Yeah, he has a point. I’d lose my mind if I missed an opportunity like that because of someone interrupting my life. Cora… she’s gone too far. “And your next game is… Friday?”

He glances at my digital clock, which shows the date too. “Yeah. I should be at practice this whole week. Which could be easily resolved…”

His voice trails off, and I grip the notebook I scribbled on. I could fix it easily if he gave the curse an apology like it wants. But my legs slam together, and I can’t imagine fucking him right now.

Lachlan clicks his tongue, studying me. “Shame. You’re pretty, for a wallflower.” I scoff at the jab. “But you could have fun and make this easy on both of us—”

“I don’t want you touching me,” I say bluntly, causing his brows to rise. “That’s a no for me.”

Weighted silence falls over us, and he’s one blink away from glaring at me. I know he heard me say something similar to Cora in the store, but we haven’t specifically addressed it.

“Iris,” he says slowly, staying where he is. I expect him to sit forward and glare at me, but he stays reclined, watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. “I happen to not be Dylan.”

“I didn’t say—”

He waves a hand, cutting me off. “It’s pretty clear. I’m not interested in hurting you. But I can make you a deal.”

Now it’s my turn to narrow my gaze. “A deal.”

“Yes. A deal. Free me from this,” he continues, gesturing to himself, “and if you have an enemy that you need taken care of, you call me.”

I snort. “I don’t need your help dealing with anyone.”

Lachlan shrugs. “Maybe not, but what can it hurt?” He shifts in his seat, crossing his arms before he continues. “Besides, good old Dylan didn’t like me being here. That’s got to be a good thing for you.”

Or a bad one.

Thinning my lips, I debate what to do. Lachlan’s offer doesn’t sound real, but hell, Dylan’s always coming up with ways to get under my skin. I don’t need to help create a rift between the hockey team and the football players, but I think if Lachlan hits someone it’s going to hurt more than if I do.

“Still looking up all things hockey?” he asks me, a coy smirk slowly dancing across his lips. I completely shut my laptop at that point, glaring at him. “Why search when you can see the real deal?”

I already regret where this is going before I even ask. “Do you mean—”

“Come on, wallflower. I’ll show you what it’s like during practice. Maybe you’ll see what you’re denying the team by keeping me trapped as a vibrator.” He winks at me, holding out a hand. And like a fool, I take it.

9 Brawl’s a Brawl

Lachlan

I make Iris drive me to the hockey house first, which she adamantly refuses to go inside of. I’d prefer if we could keep talking things out, or better yet, if she’d let me back between her legs to show how very sorry I am. That apology has to be burning on her tongue. The sooner she spits it out the sooner we can move on with our lives and this whole week can be put in the past.

Yet I’m not quite ready to lose the hold she has on me. It could be the fact that I’ve been forced to spend an unusual amount of time with her and mostly at her mercy, but something about Iris pulls me in.

The fact that she’s looking up hockey while I showered? Pure. Fucking. Bliss.

Had I known she’d let me go home an hour later, where my phone and clothing from the night of the party were all mysteriously sitting in my room, I would’ve waited. There’s no sign of Ronaldo when I sweep through the house, or anyone else really. My gear is out in the car still, and after grabbing my phone, charger, and a go bag, I jog out to grab it.

Iris is still there, idling on the curb. It’s dark enough this time of year that I can’t make out much in her car at this early hour, so I make quick work of collecting what I need and heading back. It occurs to me as I slide back into her passenger seat and side eye her that I could drive myself. But what if I change back?

I don’t want my car getting left at the practice rink or even out at her apartment if Dylan has that much of a chip on his shoulder about visitors. Hopefully since we crossed paths yesterday he’ll lose interest in her and move onto someone else with a less exciting life.

“Your coach isn’t going to be mad?” Iris asks, and I’m all but dragging her into the arena.

“Practices aren’t closed to the public this early in the season,” I explain, pulling her along with a loose grip on her wrist. She’s not exactly fighting me, but I wouldn’t say she’s as eager as she was forty minutes ago in her apartment. “Pick a seat near the glass and watch and learn. I won’t have much time to talk to you anyway. Coach is going to ream my ass for missing so much.”