Secret Obsession: Chapter 11

“She needs to learn her place,” Amanda hisses to her friends. She’s holding court, or so it would seem, in the seats just above the players’ entrance to the rink.

“Shouldn’t you have left Crown Point by now?” I ask her, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, thirty?”

Her lip curls. “I’ll have you know—”

“I don’t care,” I say flatly. “In fact, maybe Willow did you a favor. You can now get with more of the hockey team without fear of them misinterpreting your intentions. Except your one true love, Steele O’Brien. He’s faithful to his girl.”

Her friends are stifling their giggles—which is making matters worse in Amanda’s fucked-up little head. Her face is getting redder and redder, and I quickly move past her. If she explodes, I don’t want that sort of cleanup again.

One murder is enough, thanks.

Too soon?

I slip my mouth guard in and tip my head back, shaking my hair out of my face for my helmet. Once it’s in place, I skate onto the ice. I’m one of the last ones out. Even the other goalie is already here, warming up before practice.

My mind is halfway here, but I’m hoping instincts and reflexes will kick in to make up for it. I’ve got all the blockers up on Willow’s phone in preparation for her to try and salvage her Amanda situation. Her laptop is in my hockey bag, which is safe and sound in the locker room.

I skate forward and slap my stick against Knox’s. He grins at me, following me toward the goal. Half of our guys are off to the sides, stretching, and I should join them. But first, I mark up the crease, digging my skates in to give me better traction.

Focus, I order myself.

Like I ever listen to orders.

Greyson eyes me, smirking, and skates past in a flash. I grin back. He’s a mastermind when it comes to thinking up ways to fuck with people—and Steele, too. Although Steele is now off to the side, stretching, he catches my eye and nods.

They’re all with me.

Setting Amanda against Willow is simply business. Because Amanda has a big mouth, and she’ll manipulate everyone in her circle. Now that Violet and Willow aren’t on the dance team, that’s Amanda’s domain. And who knows how far she reaches otherwise. Last I heard, she oversaw the fan bus to all the sporting events off campus.

She’s got power on campus. No one can deny that.

Coach skates out onto the ice and blows his whistle. I switch places with the other goalie and drift up toward the neutral zone in the center of the rink. I take my time warming up until Coach divides us, each goalie taking our position in the goal. He explains the drills he wants each side to run, which every player will cycle through twice, then we’ll switch.

I get into position, flexing my fingers on my stick. Once I’m in the crease, I’m in the zone. I can’t explain it—it’s like everything else falls away. Just me and the opponent and the puck.

Greyson charges first, with Steele beside him. He passes quick to Steele, who glides forward and slings the puck at the goal. It comes high, and I easily catch it and toss it away. Another two players are already coming forward, this time a freshman and sophomore. Their movements are just a touch more hesitant, slower. Pass, shoot.

This drill is clearly meant to drive the hesitancy out of our players. So they don’t freeze when they get the puck in a game.

I block their shot with my stick. Another with my pads. I get into it until Greyson comes back around, this time with Knox. Knox passes to Greyson, who fakes a shot—and I fucking fall for it. He slips the puck between my legs and blows a kiss at me.

I flip him off from inside my glove—not that he can tell.

Makes me feel marginally better, though.

I’m sweating by the time Coach blows the whistle.

“Water break,” he calls. “And then goalies are switching.”

I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle, taking off my helmet and slowly heading back to the goal. The water is cold and refreshing.

“Whiteshaw!”

A voice I should not be hearing at practice catches my attention.

I spin around to watch Willow step through the doorway and onto the ice. She’s locked on me, and then she stops in her tracks. My brother is suddenly slamming to a halt in front of her. I bite my tongue to quell the sudden desire to rip her away from him.

Why is he talking to her anyway?

My heartbeat rushes in my ears. She’s leaning forward slightly, her balance on the balls of her feet. She doesn’t do well on ice, not in street shoes. Her cheeks are red, her hair messy. Windswept, a little damp on top. Maybe it’s snowing? Her eyes are angry, flashing up at him. Even her mouth is tense.

Knox says something to her, and she rolls her eyes. She points to me, and I can’t help but silently rejoice. My brother can fuck himself right to Hell, she’s here for me. I know exactly why, of course. But he doesn’t. For once, I’ve kept him out of it.

Greyson and Steele both eye me.

The rest of the team falls silent. Well, silent-ish. There are some assholes who never shut up, and my brother is one of them. He chuckles and moves backward, sweeping his arm out in invitation for her to continue. Which she does, with surprising confidence, until she’s right in front of me.

I set my water bottle and mask on the back of the net. “Willow. What a surprise.”

“Where is it?” She’s seething mad and sexy as sin. Her black blouse clings to her in all the right places, visible through her open black coat. Her cleavage is there for the taking, the wide V of skin from the center of her chest up to her collarbones smooth and tan.

In the winter. Go figure.

“Where’s what?” I ask, trying to control my smile. And my heartbeat.

We have an audience.

“My laptop,” she grits out.

“Oh, that old thing?” I lift one shoulder. “Not sure. I recall it was in the bag that I gave back to you—”

“That was days ago,” she hisses. “And I need it. Give it back.”

Coach blows his whistle, and Willow cringes.

“What the fuck is this?” He slides to a stop beside us. “Really, Whiteshaw? Entertaining girls on the ice?” His gaze turns to her. “You’re friends with that Reece girl, aren’t you? You ladies have an untimely habit of trying out for the hockey team. Girls on my ice during practice. Never in my years…”

Willow’s already walking backward, apologizing to him with her hands up. She gets all the way to the door that’ll take her back toward the locker rooms, or the exit. Depending on where she wants to go.

If she goes to the locker room, she’ll no doubt search my bag while I’m out here.

And if she does that, of course she’ll find her laptop.

“Sorry, Coach.” I drift after Willow. I just need to see if she turns left toward the locker rooms, or right toward the exit…

Except, well, I don’t really have anything to worry about.

Amanda has made her way down to the players’ entrance level.

I catch sight of her just as Willow reaches the doorway.

“Uh-oh.”

Coach follows my line of sight, but it’s like it happens in slow motion. One minute, Willow is facing off against Amanda.

And the next, Amanda is on her.

“Shit,” Coach yells.

He skates for the door. I go for it, too, and I’m right on his heels getting to the girls. They’re locked in, Amanda’s hand—more like a claw—digging into Willow’s neck. She hits Willow with her other hand, a true punch that lands across Willow’s cheekbone.

My anger spikes.

Willow drags Amanda forward and knees her in the stomach. When Amanda folds, Willow grabs her by her hair and twists. She uses her momentum to send the girl flying forward, and she just barely catches herself on her forearms.

Coach hoists a shrieking Amanda off her feet before she can regain her footing, and I use my size—and padding—to herd Willow against the wall. Her chest is heaving, and her jacket is off. Her shirt is ripped, and she’s got blood trickling down her neck.

“Fuck.” I shake my head at her, knowing that this was my fault—but also being unable to deny that this is the hugest fucking turn-on I’ve ever known.

Willow just got in a fight, and she’s still smiling.

Well, okay, she’s scowling. But she’s standing. Bloody and bruised, and she would’ve kept fighting even longer. In fact, she was owning Amanda. Another minute, and she would’ve had the older girl running for the hills.

“Look at me,” I command, wanting to ride the exhilaration with her.

Willow’s gaze tips up to mine.

I drink in her anger, which seems to rise like a tide in her. Until she’s pushing at me, shoving with all her strength. For all the good it does, I barely rock back a step. And I’m harder than I’ve ever been, although it fucking sucks to have the cup blocking it. It’s a motherfucker when you’re turned on… not that it happens very often.

Anyway, it does the job of hiding my emotions, at the very least.

“Good thing your first opponent was more your size,” I say.

“Get out of my way.”

I glance over my shoulder. Coach has disappeared with Amanda, and half the team seems to be crowding in the doorway—but the front two, Greyson and Steele, seem unbothered about letting anyone through.

“If I let you go, she’s just going to jump you with her friends,” I reason.

I lean down, my decision made. She doesn’t seem to understand what I’m doing until my hands are on her thighs and my shoulder catches her stomach. She squeals when I stand with her over my shoulder, and I turn back to the ice.

“Get an ice pack from first aid, would you?” I ask Steele.

He nods in affirmation and slips past me.

My teammates make a hole for me. I skate directly to the penalty box, where I set her on her feet and push her backward. She looks around slowly.

“Stay,” I order.

She glowers at me.

I roll my eyes. “Unless you want to get jumped?”

“Shut up.” She sits on the bench, leaning back and crossing her arms. She’s going to freeze in two seconds flat with her arms bare.

But I don’t quite have it in me to do anything else nice for her.

Luckily, Steele arrives with both her jacket and an ice pack. And bandages. He hands the lot to me, although I don’t miss that Willow knows I forgot about her jacket.

Fucker.

And now I want her to be warm? What kind of sap am I?

“Here,” I grunt, tossing the supplies at her. Her jacket falls to the floor. I slam the door shut again and point down. “Latch this.”

I stare her down until she moves forward and locks the penalty box door. It’ll save her if someone slams into it, at the very least.

But she just makes me so crazy. All I can do is skate away—otherwise I might completely lose it.