Page 128 of Offside Angle

Matteo laughs again, the sound warm and a little breathless. “Among other things.”

I can’t help myself. I give one last, slow thrust — just enough to make a point — and feel him twitch around me with a soft moan. Then I carefully pull out, my hands immediately going to his hips to steady him as I do.

Matteo lets out a satisfied sound as I settle beside him on the bed. I reach over and gently rub his back again, my fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin while we both catch our breath.

I glance at him, one eyebrow raised. “You really want me to teach you?” I ask.

Matteo turns his head to look at me. “Maybe,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you’re a good teacher.”

I reach over and gently pull Matteo into my arms, turning him so his back is against my chest. He comes willingly as I wrap myself around him. I tug the blanket over both of us and press a kiss to the back of his shoulder, my hand resting on his stomach.

Matteo shifts a little, getting comfortable, then speaks without even turning his head. “So… when are these lessons starting?”

I huff out a laugh against his skin and tighten my arm around him. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight,” I murmur, nipping lightly at his shoulder.

Matteo chuckles, the sound vibrating through his back and into my chest. “I’m just saying,” he continues, clearly enjoying himself, “if you’re gonna keep making me lose my mind like that, it’s only fair I get to return the favor eventually.”

“You’re dangerous when you get like this,” I say, amused. “All cocky and mouthy after I’ve already fucked you stupid.”

Matteo turns his head just enough to glance back at me over his shoulder. “Guess you’ll just have to keep me in line then.”

I let out a quiet groan and bury my face in his neck, already feeling the heat stir again even though we’ve barely come down. “Keep talking like that and we’re not getting any sleep tonight,” I warn, though there’s no real threat in my voice.

Matteo just laughs again, warm and content, and settles back against me.

It’s mid-second period and we’re down 2–1. The crowd is loud enough that I can feel it in my chest every time they score or force a turnover. The ice feels faster here. Or maybe Vanguard just plays like animals on their own turf. Either way, they’re flying.

We came out pissed. Still carrying the loss from Game 2. For the first ten minutes we were the better team. But Vanguard adjusted. Their forecheck is relentless and their defensemen are pinching at the perfect times.

The puck drops in our zone and I step up to take the hit instead of letting their forward get a clean look. My shoulder absorbs the impact and I grunt, turning the play up the boards toward Cole. My legs feel heavy for half a second, then settle again.

I glance toward the glass during a whistle. Santi is there, camera up, moving along the boards like always. Our eyes meet for a split second.

I dig my skates in harder on the next shift. Close the gaps tighter. Finish my checks cleaner. When one of their wingers tries to cut inside on me, I ride him into the boards hard enough that the glass rattles. The crowd boos, but I don’t care.

I feel Santi’s eyes on me, and instead of getting in my head, it makes me want to be better.

I win a battle along the wall and fire the puck up to Elias. He carries it in and the arena noise drops for a second as the Reapers press. I jump up on the play, keeping my gap tight.

I know Santi is watching from behind the glass. I can feel it.

Cole dishes to Elias on the left. Elias cuts inside, draws two defenders, and slips a perfect pass across the slot to Tyler. Tyler one-times it—the goalie gets a piece of it with his blocker. The rebound sits right there for half a second. Elias crashes the net and digs for it, but their defenseman clears it just before he can get his stick on it.

The whistle blows. Faceoff in their zone.

Elias skates past me toward the bench, with his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he rips his helmet off when he sits down says enough.

“We need to bury those,” Damian snaps, loud enough for half the bench to hear. “Stop fucking around with them. Put it in the net.”

I drop onto the bench and grab a water bottle. My thighs are starting to complain more now. I ignore it and keep my eyes on the ice.

With just under three minutes left in the second period, Vanguard comes at us in waves.

I’m out with Viktor on the back end. Their top line is cycling the puck in our zone. Every time we think we’ve forced a bad angle, they reset and come again. The crowd is on their feet, sensing blood.

I take a hit along the wall trying to clear, and the puck squirts loose before I can get my stick back on it. Their winger jumps on it immediately and sends it back to the point.

The shot comes through traffic.