“You’re definitely number one.”
* * *
Beingnumber one on Stassie’s shit list is the easiest job I’ve ever had.
We’ve trained before her and Aaron every day this week because of some shit Brady’s got them doing tolearn from their mistakes at regionals.
The problem is that every day this week, we’ve started late and finished late because of some rant Faulkner has been on. She’s been standing silently seething with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, trying to murder me with her eyes.
“Stassie…” I’d try as I got off the ice and would have to walk past her.
“Don’t even start, Nathan, not unless you want me to beat you with your hockey stick.” She’d say it so calmly, it was even more terrifying than if she was screaming, and goose bumps would spread all over my body.
Yesterday, we were busy winning our game in San Diego, so she had the rink to herself, but today I don’t think I will get out of here in one piece. I can see her in my peripheral vision as I move up and down the rink. She’s wearing a baby blue outfit today; the soft and delicate color feels weirdly unsuitable for someone so full of rage.
While I can’t see her body, I’d put money on it clinging to her every curve, so at least it’ll be the last thing I see when she murders me.
I spot her arguing with Aaron, which pleases me more than it should but distracts me enough for JJ to bash into me, sending me flying into the boards. “Pay attention, dickhead.”
Looking up at the clock, I know we’re a good fifteen minutes over. Faulkner has said we don’t stop until he says so, and as long as Brady isn’t stood tapping her foot impatiently, he’s prepared to push his luck.
Every muscle is aching since he’s working us like we’re navy fucking seals and w—
What the fuck is she doing?
She’s skating into the middle of the rink with a look of sheer determination on her face, and she looks li—is she starting her fucking routine?She’s going to get flattened.
Where the fuck is Aaron or Brady?
“Stassie, get off the ice!” She doesn’t even look at me, she just holds up her middle finger and carries on as the guys skate around her.
Bobby skates up beside me. “She’s going to get hurt, Cap. You gotta do something.”
She’s floating around the rink between the guys, and I feel like I’m trying to catch a fucking butterfly. A vision in blue spinning and gliding, unfazed by the danger she’s in. Half the guys haven’t even spotted her, so they haven’t slowed down, and embarrassingly, I’m struggling to catch up to her.
Captain of the hockey team and I can’t keep up with a five-foot-four figure skater—I’m never going to live this down.
She finally slows down to do some fancy spinning shit, and I close the gap, scooping her up over my shoulder, ignoring her squeal of horror. Her fists bang against my back, and it’s a good day to be wearing protective equipment.
I haven’t even said a word, but she knows it’s me. “Nate Hawkins, put me down, now!”
My hand is gripping the back of her thigh to keep her in place; I give it a squeeze. “Shut up, Anastasia. Are you trying to get yourself another head injury?”
She’s trying to wriggle off, but my grip is too tight, so all she can do is hit at me, and frankly, I’ve had worse. “Stop. Telling. Me. To. Shut. Up! Put me down, Nathan!” The anger is seeping through into every syllable, and I know I’m in for it as soon as I put her down.
There are practically flames in her eyes when I place her back on the ground behind the boards where she’ll be safe, her cheeks are flushed red, fists clutching at her sides.
Her hands fly to her hair, fingers linking together as she shakes her head exasperated, chest heaving. I’m trying to concentrate on her anger, not her tits, but it’s hard. “Anas—”
“If you ever,” her eyes lock with mine, and I’m frozen on the spot, her voice dangerously low, “ever, touch me again, Nathan Hawkins, I will make sure the only job you can ever get on ice is a Zamboni driver. Understood?”
I bite my tongue because, fuck, I want to kiss her so bad right now. Her hands have moved to her hips, and she’s so fucking hot when she’s mad at me. “Understood.”
“You’re overrunning and you’re fucking up my schedule. I have plans tonight, and I’m going to be late if you don’t get off the freaking ice and let me practice!”
“What are your plans?”
She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “Nothing you need to be involved in.”