Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I beat the shit out of Layvon in a sold-out stadium.
I protected my team.
My mates.
The adrenaline in my system should be decreasing not idling.
What do I bloody need?!
To piss?
Hydration?
A fucking Snickers?
Grumbles accompany me plopping down to shed my skates, the action being done in hopes of alleviating some of the strain in my system I can’t seem to shake.
By the time the boys and Coach come filing in, I expect to be simmered down yet am somehow still at the same level of unsettled I was when I first left the ice.
“Howe hat trick, boys!” animatedly announces Wahl. “Goal, assist, and a fight all in one game! Clap him in!”
Stick taps on the floor to applaud the rarity for a player – and what I envision to be not only my first but only – are attached to more ras reverberating around the room in approval as I remove my upper gear.
I manage to catch a single nod of gratitude from Matty on the opposite side split seconds before Cap is removing his mouthguard and flopping into his stall beside me. “Problem?”
Uncertainty of how to answer leads to me remaining silent.
“Ty vyglyadish' stranno.” He catches the tossed half a sando to him with his left, now gloveless hand and grunts, “Like you’ve got the jitzkies, aye.”
“Yes, but I do not know why.”
“It’s your fight or fuck response,” one of the Goonie Tunes declares after running a towel across his face.
“What?”
“Fight or fuck response,” echoes the other one.
“You don’t know it ‘cause you don’t usually fight,” states the twin standing.
“It’s just science shit,” backs his brother that’s sitting.
“That cannot possibly be scientific.”
“Sure, it is.” He drapes the towel over his padless shoulders. “You light the mental lamp in your brainskies and then your body either wants to fight or fuck, aye.”
“And if you do one but it doesn’t switch off then it means you still need to do the other.”
They’re nodding in tandem is attached to once more firmly claiming, “Fight or fuck response.”
There’s no stopping my glare from narrowing as Cap and I lock eyes. “Why does that make bloody sense?”
“’Cause it’s science,” Wahl chuckles during his walk by. “Duh.”
One of his shoulders bounces on another bite. “Ponyatiya ne imeyu, no...” he swallows the hunk in his mouth, “they’re right. You need to flip that switch to get your head back in the game.”
“Too bad your Slayer’s in Montana or Michigan or Manitoba or wherever they said,” Wahl grabs his own half of sando to shove into his mouth. “Means you just gotta take a penalty shot.”
Knowing the truth rolls my head back around to meet Cap’s glare. “I need ten.”
He aggressively sinks his teeth into the snack and grumbles, “Sem'.”
“Deal.”
We slap palms twice and cross shoulder bump on a loud “ra”.
Ducking out of the locker room for seven minutes practically unnoticed isn’t difficult.
And to my pleasant surprise, neither is finding my Slayer who happens to be at the very end of hall as if secretly hoping I would pop out to see her.
Who knows.
Perhaps she was.
Perhaps seeing me drop the gloves flipped some sort of switch inside her too.
Although, I highly doubt it.
That shit is most likely not actually scientific.
Just…jockatific.
“Holyfuck…” Arden loudly proclaims during her slip around security. “That was…” Excitement and disbelief fuse together in her headshaking. “Best ass whooping all fucking season!”
Snatching her palm, the second she’s within reach is speedily followed by stumbling down the hall.
“Definitely one for the highlight reel!”
Checking the first door we pass doesn’t reveal the result I’m desperate for.
“Did you knock one of his teeth out or just break his nose?!”
And neither does the next.
“That much blood on the ice was a bitch to get up by the way.”
Nor does the third.
“I don’t know who looked more concerned, med or his coach.”
This handle turning to grant us access conjures up a gnarled, “Thankfuck.” Inside the pocket storage room that clearly houses extra supplies for the locker room, I carelessly shove her against the shelving, wind my hand around her throat, and barbarically command at a hushed volume, “Say it again.” Arden delightfully whimpers at the pressure prompting my forehead to fall to hers. “Say. It. Again. Slayer.”
The corner of her lips briefly twitch upward. “I love you.”
Feral growls precede me smashing my mouth on hers.
Roughly spreading her lips.
Whirling my tongue around while nudging apart her thighs with my knee.
I abruptly pull back at the same time I squeeze a bit harder. “Again.”
Initially, she resists, yet the combination of additional pressure and my fingers undoing the button of her jeans convinces her to airily croak, “I love you, twenty-eight.”
Like a beast broken free from his choke chain, ravishing the love of my life becomes the only thing I can do.
The only thing I’m capable of doing.
Getting her turned around, jeans and panties pulled down just enough to thrust inside, head banging into the shelf of toilet paper rolls happens so blindingly fast that it leaves my own mind spinning.