Page 103 of That Pucking New Girl

“I’ll take your stuff,” he grunts, taking my water bottle and skates. “Off ya go.”

Hurrying inside to the stands, I watch the puck drop. I carefully hop down the stairs as fans begin to cheer, and find that lunging from side to side is enough excitement to keep the crowd happy.

I’m worried my energy levels are going to be less than they deserve, but I can’t help it. All I can do is try to stay engaged.

I watch as the Devils chase the puck across the ice, gasping as it slams against the glass as the players follow their way to the boards. Gloves go flying, fists find their mark, and I bite my lip as they’re forced apart.

The puck is put in play again, and I lose interest slightly as my mind wanders, glancing at Draven. His focus is completely on what’s happening in front of him, and his legs are constantly moving.

I suppose this is a great position for someone who can’t be still, or needs to be in a high pressure situation while still being protected. I don’t understand all the rules yet, but I do know that touching the goalie is a great way to get fucked up.

The puck slams into the glass again, making me jump at how fucking loud it is. Everything about the stadium is overstimulating from the lights, the buzzers, to the sound of the players busting their asses to lay it all out on the ice.

The last part I can understand. Any kind of competitive skating is the same. Your body pushes itself to do whatever is necessary⁠—

Fuck. My eyes fly up to the next slam of the puck against the glass, but it’s picked up on Ciaran’s blade quickly and sent to Number twenty-two. The last names and numbers on jerseys at least help me know who is who.

Ciaran’s fingers move from his eyes to me angrily, and I realize he somehow noticed I wasn’t paying attention to the game. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to cheer when something good happens and act upset when the puck is stolen away. The crowd is sweet and tells me they’ll rally, and I nod as if I need reassurance.

Honestly, unless I’m working the crowd, it’s too easy to disassociate. Now that I know what that looks like, I’m doing my best to stay present.

Eamon, the dickweed who talked out of his asshole at me on the courtyard, scores the first goal of the game by shooting the puck between the goalie’s legs. It’s a lucky shot, and the other team’s goalie isn’t the best.

Draven does a victory dance on the other side of the rink as the clock runs out on the first period, and I make my escape. I’m sweating despite how cool it is the arena or the fan spinning in my costume head.

The hallways are empty as I walk through them to get to the locker room. Thankfully, it’s empty, allowing me to rip off my mask and find my bottle of water. Sniffing it carefully, I take a large gulp of fluid, humming in happiness as I sit down heavily on the bench to take a break.

The door to the lockers slams open, making me shriek, and my jaw drops as I find Ciaran there, looking like an angry god. It was too far for me to notice before, but as he yanks off his helmet, I see that his curls have been buzzed off completely.

I had noticed at school some of the other hockey players had shorn off their hair, but I thought it was a hazing thing.

Who the fuck would do that for funsies?

“Your hair,” I whisper.

There are guards on his skates as he stalks closer until he’s toe to toe with me.

“If you’re in the stands, Nope, you’ll damn well pay attention to us. Is that understood?”

“Fuck you,” I reply, losing the plot as I spit at him. It lands on his chest, traveling farther than I expected, and as his face turns red and his lips curl into a cruel smirk, I know I’m in deep shit.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

CIARAN

I didn’t plan to follow her, but it’s as if there’s an invisible thread pulling me in her direction. I want her to be as obsessed with me as I am with her.

Has she been thinking of us in the two weeks she hasn’t been at school? Does she miss the day to day grind or is she happy to get space from us?

Fuck, I don’t like the idea that she’s happy. Safe in her home with foster parents who adore her. God, I hate that.

And so, I stalked her off the ice and into the locker room. I can’t be long, but I can have this. Leaning over her, I breathe in her sweet vanilla scent. People think it’s boring, but it’s not on her. There’s a hint of amber that deepens the scent, and I can feel my cock thicken as she kicks at my legs.

I have a decent amount of padding on, she can’t hurt me. I toss off my gloves and wrap my hand around her throat, tightening until she winces. My other hand grabs her wrists as she shoves her hand down her shorts, and I shake my head. There’s no way I’m getting a knife or jolt of electricity to my junk tonight.

“Did you enjoy your hiatus from us?” I growl, dragging my nose up her throat. She shouldn’t fucking smell this good.