Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“This is way more aggressive than I expected,” I say over the cheers. “Why is it so aggressive?”
“Because it’s hockey!” Gigi laughs, clearly loving my confusion. “It’s all about getting physical.”
Physical is one way to put it. I wince when I notice a particularly jarring hit against a Harvard player.
I raise a brow. “That seemed unnecessary.”
“Nah. Beckett’s just showing them who’s boss.” Gigi’s eyes are bright with approval. “Considering how laid-back he is, he’s a shockingly good enforcer.”
I grimace. “Ugh. Beckett? I know that guy. He’s in my environmental science elective.”
“Not a fan?” Gigi sounds amused.
“He flirts too much and thinks he’s more charming than he actually is.”
“I mean…isn’t that most men?”
“Fair point.”
Her gaze is once again drawn away from us. “Shit. Coach looks pissed.”
I lean forward in my seat, craning my neck to get a better look at the Briar bench. “Does he coach the women’s team too?”
“No. Our coach actually knows how to smile.”
“I don’t blame Jensen for losing his shit,” Blake says, also peering down at the ice. “Is that camera allowed on the bench?”
“Oh! Right!” Gigi says. “Will was telling me about this. His dad’s on one of his PR crusades and forcing Will to do a bunch of interviews, including a TV spot. I guess this is part of it.”
“Yeah, well, Jensen’s about to clock that cameraman,” Blake predicts.
She’s right. The angry man with the buzz cut is not having this. From up here, it looked like the cameraman just interfered with their line change. One of the players is late to get on the ice, and I fear the coach might have a coronary.
With his clipboard tucked against his bulky chest, he stalks to the other end of the cramped bench where the cameraman leans against the plexiglass. Jensen smacks the clipboard on the guy’s chest and gets in his face. I can’t hear what he’s saying but I can guess.
A moment later, the cameraman is scurrying to safety.
“That would have been Beck’s pass,” Gigi complains when the puck is scooped up by the other team near the home bench.
The opposing player goes tearing off on his own, all the Briar guys hurrying after him in a blur of black and silver. It’s no use. Harvard scores. The entire rink lets out a collective groan and series of boos.
While the other team is celebrating, a new kind of roar explodes from the crowd. Beckett is shoving one of the Harvard players. The guy stumbles but doesn’t fall. Instead, he flings his gloves off and digs his fists into the front of Beckett’s jersey. As he’s being yanked forward, Beckett elbows the guy in the chin. Hard.
I gasp when the fists begin to fly. They’re fighting. Like, actually fighting. Punches are landing, helmets knocked askew.
I should be horrified, and I am—kind of. But at the same time, this entire showdown is…
Hot.
They’re so aggressive. Raw. A strange thrill shoots through me as Beckett lands a solid blow that sends his opponent on his ass, and the crowd goes wild.
I can’t tear my gaze off him. Something about the way he holds himself, the sheer force of it all, keeps me riveted.
Maybe I don’t understand all the rules of hockey, but I’m starting to get why people love it. There’s something primal about it, something that crawls under your skin and makes you want to keep watching, no matter how brutal it gets.
“I thought they weren’t allowed to fight,” I shout at Blake.
“They’re not.” Her expression is grim. “He’s going to get in so much trouble for that.”
Sure enough, after the players and refs step in and pry the two young men apart, a panting Beckett skates back to the bench to suffer the wrath of his coach.
Beckett’s face is downright feral. Will skates over, his boy-next-door features stretched taut. The intensity rolls off both guys in waves. It’s incredibly sexy.
My pulse is still racing, and I’m more than a little embarrassed by how much I’d just enjoyed watching two grown men beat the crap out of each other.
Will stops Beckett before he enters the bench and whispers in his ear. Whatever it is, it seems to loosen some of the tension in Beckett’s shoulders.
“Look at the dog whisperer over here,” I remark.
Gigi snickers. “Yeah, Will knows how to calm him down.”
“I still don’t get it,” Blake says. “They’re not hooking up?”
“I don’t think so. But they like to share.”
My head swings toward her.
I’m sorry—what?
She must mistake my shock for confusion, because she offers a smile and an explanation, “They enjoy, ah, threesomes.”
“With who?” Blake demands.
“No clue. They’ve never named names.”
My insides begin twisting into tight, uneasy knots. My gaze returns to the ice, where Beckett is being reamed out. The coach gestures for him to get out, his face red and sweaty.
“Shit, he’s been ejected,” Gigi says.