They tossed me out for unsportsmanlike conduct. Yeah right. If the refs heard even half the filth Connelly was spewing about our mothers, they’d throw that fucker out too.
As is stands, I’m the only ousted player. One punch thrown in an already heated game probably won’t get me a suspension from the team, but now I’m stuck in the locker room, prohibited from leaving until I get the obligatory tongue-lashing from Coach Jensen.
Or maybe he’ll delegate again and let O’Shea deliver the lecture. Lucky me. That would mean two lectures from that bastard in the span of twenty-four hours. He’d called me into his office last night when I was driving home from the Hurricanes game. Add to that Allie’s admission that she was with her ex, and it’s no surprise I ended up getting trashed with Beau.
I swear to God, if Allie got back together with that undeserving ass, I’m going to…what? Lose it again? “Break up” with her? All I’ve done so far is avoid her, big talker that I am. Truthfully, I’m afraid of what she might say.
Footsteps echo beyond the door. I instantly tense. Wait, it’s the wrong door, I realize. Not the one leading out to the ice, but the one that opens to the main hallway.
“Dean?” Allie’s voice has my head snapping up.
How the hell did she get back here? We have security guards manning the facility during home games to prevent people from stealing into the locker rooms and messing with the equipment. That actually happened a couple years ago—a rabid fan of our opponents’ snuck in and spray-painted LOSER on our lockers. I hadn’t realized some colleges let in five-year-olds.
There’s a soft knock. “Dean, are you in there?”
I answer on a ragged breath, “Yeah.”
Allie pokes her blond head in the room. She spots me on the bench and makes a beeline toward me. She’s in jeans and a red sweater, with her hair up in a messy bun, and either I’m imagining it or her eyes are rimmed with red. Has she been crying?
“How’d you get past security?” I ask gruffly.
“I told the guard I’m your girlfriend and that I desperately needed to check on my man. There may have been some crocodile tears involved.” She grins wryly. “The ability to cry on command really comes in handy sometimes.”
“And he bought it?”
“Yep. I’m very convincing. But I did have to show him my Briar ID to prove I wasn’t a saboteur.” She sits beside me. “Why did you get kicked out of the game?”
I stare straight ahead. “I sucker punched someone. Damn foolish on my part. I deserve to be in here.”
“Maybe. But it still sucks.” She goes quiet for a moment. I can feel her blue eyes boring into the side of my face. “You’re avoiding me.”
I glance over. “Just a bit.”
“A bit? There aren’t degrees of avoidance, Dean. You’re either avoiding someone, or you aren’t.”
“Not true. Sometimes there’re extenuating circumstances. Unexpected variables.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” she corrects, “but we can put a pin in that for the moment.” She presses one hand against my cheek, then slides it to my chin to twist my head toward her. Forcing eye contact. “I know you’re pissed at me for seeing Sean.”
“I’m not pissed. You can see whoever you want.” I put on an indifferent tone, when inside, I’m bristling. “But let me just point out the hypocrisy of that. Weren’t we supposed to give each other a head’s up before we hooked up with anyone else?”
“I didn’t hook up with him.”
“No?”
“No,” she says in a firm voice. “And if your silent treatment also has to do with you thinking Sean and I got back together, I can assure you, we did not. He wanted to, but I said no.”
I can’t explain the gust of relief that slams into my chest. “Good to know,” I say lightly, but the knowing gleam in her eyes reveals she is absolutely aware of how pleased I am.
She takes my hand and twines our fingers together. “Sean and I are over. I don’t want to be with him, and that’s exactly what I told him yesterday.”
“Bet he wasn’t thrilled to hear it.”
“Nope, but it’s something he’ll need to accept.” She rubs her thumb over my tender knuckles. They’re not bleeding anymore, but the way she gasps, you’d think my hand had been amputated. “You shouldn’t be fighting,” she says sternly.
“Hockey players are hot-blooded, babe. We fight sometimes. Not the end of the world.”
“What did the jerk say to get you to punch him?”
“I don’t even remember,” I admit. “It was all a blur, and I was already in a shitty mood to begin with.”
Guilt fills her expression. “Because of me?”
“Naah.” My fingers tighten through hers. “O’Shea is on my case again because another goddamn picture showed up on Instagram.” I chuckle harshly. “I really need to start paying more attention when I’m at Malone’s.”
“O’Shea is your assistant coach? The one who forced you to volunteer at the middle school?”
“Defensive coordinator, and yes.”
“Okay, and what picture are we talking about? Wait, a picture from Malone’s? Of us?” Her face goes pale.
“No,” I assure her. “Me and Penelope, the puck bunny who was chewing on my neck. O’Shea is pissed.”
“Why? Are PDAs forbidden?” She quickly adds, “Not that I’m saying you were PDA’ing with her—I know she was the one coming on to you. But for argument’s sake, even if you were reciprocating, how is that a punishable offense?”
“He wasn’t bitching about the PDA. I’m holding a beer in the picture, and O’Shea’s got a stick up his ass about us not drinking.”
“Um. He realizes he’s coaching college players, right? A no-drinking rule is impossible to enforce.”
“I know.”
“And all you’re doing in the picture is holding a beer? What the hell? It’s not like you got caught snorting lines of coke off her tits.”
A smile tickles my lips. “Of course not. If I was going to snort lines off anyone’s tits, it would be yours.”
“Aw, thanks. That’s so romantic.” Still stroking my palm with her fingertips, she leans closer and kisses my cheek. “O’Shea is an idiot, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you, okay? Especially not to the point where you’re so angry you’re punching people and getting thrown out of games.”
She’s right—I need to do a better job of controlling my temper. But Frank O’Shea…fuck. Just the sound of his sharp, condescending voice riles me up.
Allie’s lips brush over my jaw in a fleeting kiss. Then she releases my hand, visibly reluctant. “I should probably go before someone sees me in here. The third period will be over soon.”
“Did you happen to catch the score before you came back here?”
“I think it was tied.”
Shit. Well, hopefully my boys manage to turn the tie into a lead, because I’m sick to death of losing.
And I’m sick of sneaking around, if I’m being honest.
It was exciting at first, sleeping with Allie behind our friends’ backs, but I’m not feeling it anymore. When she showed up at Malone’s the other night looking like that? I wanted to stick my tongue down her throat in front of everyone. It was damn hard pretending to be unaffected by her, and I’m damn tired of furtively texting her for quickies and lying to my friends about where I’m going.
Friends, who, by the way, now think I incorporate dildos in my jerk-off routine. When Tucker handed me a plate of bacon and eggs this morning, he innocently asked if my “little pink buddy” would be joining us for breakfast. Garrett almost broke a rib laughing. Poor Grace still can’t look at me without blushing.
I know Allie doesn’t want our friends to know we’re fooling around, but I wish there was a way we could have a little more freedom. Maybe we could book a hotel room for the weekend, just spend two whole days in bed without worrying about—
Inspiration strikes. “Hey, wait.” I reach for her hand before she can stand up. “Did you book your train ticket for Thanksgiving yet?”
Allie curses. “No, I didn’t. Argh! Why am I so bad at remembering things? I set a reminder!”
“Don’t book it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a better idea.” I hesitate. “Why don’t I come to New York with you? We can drive up in my car.”
She looks startled. “Oh. You…uh…want to spend Thanksgiving together? Um. Well. I’m seeing my dad—”
“I’m not inviting myself to dinner or anything,” I cut in. “I figured I’d stay at my place in Manhattan while you’re with your dad, and if you’re free Thursday or Friday night, you can come over.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Well, that’s intriguing,” she says slowly. “When do you need to be back at Briar for the game?”
“I’d have to leave Saturday morning. When were you planning on coming back?”