Page 39 of Monstrous Serpent

“Miss being out there. But fuck.” Reed huffs, shaking his head. “At this rate, you two are gonna set up a fucking cot in the penalty box.”

“Worth it.”

He laughs.

We hang on to the tie until the last ten seconds of the second period when the Titans score again.

Third period starts, and the arena is going wild. With a close score, shit’s about to get chippy, and everyone watching knows it. The beginning of the period is a stalemate. No one gets past Hunter or me, but Novotny’s stopping every shot coming his way.

Jenkins has the puck now and shoots from the slot. Shin blocks it, and the rebound kicks into the corner. Jenkins goes after it, and I'm right behind him.

We battle along the boards, his back to my chest, sticks digging for the puck. He's strong for his size, and he fights dirty in the corners—elbows out, feet kicking at the puck, refusing to give an inch.

“Quit riding me.”

“Just doing my job.” I press my weight into him, flattening him against the glass. “But since we're talking about riding—you keep pushing that ass back, and I might fill my cup.”

“Only cup you're filling is the one you cry into after we beat your ass.”

“You're cute when you talk shit.” I grind my hips forward, keeping him pinned. “Cuter when you squeak, though.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about the sounds you make when someone grabs your hair. Who does it better, Hunter or me?”

Everything stops.

His stick stops moving. His legs stop pushing. Even his breathing pauses. I can feel it because his back is against my chest and the expansion . . . isn’t there.

“My dick got so fucking hard watching you come. Both nights. It was a real bitch riding home. Bikes and hard-ons don’t mix.”

Jenkins doesn’t respond, and shit, his chest still isn’t moving.

I pull away, giving him some room. Nothing changes, so I cross-check him in the back. “Breathe before you pass out.”

He turns so fast, I’m not ready for the fist punching into the side of my helmet or the ferocity of the roar coming from him. “You motherfuckers!”

The second punch knocks my head sideways. “Didn't you learn not to punch the helmet? Thought we went over this.”

“Fuck your helmet.” He grabs mine and jerks until the strap gives, then he rips his off and throws it. “Now I can hit that ugly face for real.”

“Ugly? That's hurtful.” My head snaps sideways when his bare fist connects with my cheekbone. “Ow. Okay, that one was decent.”

“Shut the fuck up. You sick, psychotic—”

I swing back and catch him above the eye. Blood drips down his face. It doesn’t stop him. This time, his fist cracks across my jaw, and my head jerks back.

That’s gonna be a goddamn headache later. But it's the pain in my cup that makes me groan.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Right now?

He punches me in the mouth, splitting my lip. “You know what's funny? I'm hard right now. Thought you should know.”

“Why won’t you just.” Punch. “Shut.” Punch. “The fuck up.” Punch.

“What fun would that be?” I throw an uppercut, connecting with his jaw.

He goes down.