Page 64 of Puck Tease
Hockey Captain definitely playing for the other team. Not talking about sports.
Saw his roommate limping again. Just saying.
Try talking to the roommate when Carter is around. I dare you. You'll lose a hand.
His roommate is hot, but I saw a hickey and a bite mark.
The front door swung inward without a knock.
Jax filled the doorway, a solid, unyielding mass of dark leather and coiled fury. His leather jacket seemed to absorb the dim afternoon light, making him appear even darker, heavier. He’d just come from a meeting with the coaching staff, a pre-playoff strategy session. But the rigid set of his shoulders, the tension that pulled his jawline taut, spoke of battles far from the ice.
He didn’t offer a greeting, didn’t even glance my way. His boots thudded purposefully across the hardwood floor, a steady, ominous rhythm. He bypassed the living room entirely, heading straight for the kitchen. The refrigerator door hissed open, then clicked shut. The metallicshhhkof a beer can being twisted open was sharp in the quiet apartment. He lifted the can, the aluminum cold and sweating against his fingers, and took a long, deep swallow. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, a hard knot working beneath his skin.
“They’re talking,” I managed, my voice thin, barely a whisper in the sudden silence of the room.
Jax lowered the can, the condensation leaving a ring on the counter. His head turned slowly, his gaze landing on me. His eyes, usually a startling blue, were now chips of flint, cold and hard and sharp. They held no warmth, no flicker of their usual intensity, only a flat, cutting edge.
“I know.” His voice was a low rasp, a sound ripped from deep in his chest.
“What did you hear?”
“Enough,” he growled, the word vibrating in the air between us. “Coach asked if my ‘living situation’ was becoming a distraction. Tyler asked if I needed to talk about anything ‘personal.’” He crushed the empty can in his hand. The aluminum shrieked, folding in on itself with a violent protest, then fell with a softclunkto the granite counter.
“They think I’m weak,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, barely audible whisper. The words felt like shards of ice. “They think I’m hiding. They think because I haven’t fucked a cheerleader in a month, I’ve lost my edge.”
He moved then, a silent, predatory glide across the floor. He stopped directly in front of the couch, towering over me. His presence was a physical thing, blocking out the last sliver of daylight from the window, plunging me into his shadow.
“Get up,” he commanded, his voice devoid of negotiation.
My legs, which had been bouncing nervously, stilled. “Jax, we should stay in. If we go out, it just… it just adds fuel.” My voice cracked on the last word.
“No,” he snapped, the word like a whip. “Hiding makes us look guilty. Hiding makes us look ashamed.”
He reached down, his fingers closing around my wrist. The grip was firm, unyielding, a possessive brand. He pulled, and Istumbled to my feet, the couch cushion springing back with a soft sigh.
“We’re going out.”
“Where?”
“Sigma Chi. They’re throwing a pre-playoff rager. Everyone will be there. The team. The puck bunnies. The people writing those posts.”
“Jax, that’s suicide. If we go there together…” The thought choked me.
“We’re not just going there,” he interrupted, his voice a low, dark rumble. He reached out, his fingers hooking into the collar of my white t-shirt. He tugged it aside, exposing the pale skin at the junction of my neck and shoulder. The bite mark from the shower, a secret we’d kept, had faded to a mottled, bruised yellow, barely visible in the dim light.
“It’s fading,” he noted, a hint of displeasure in his tone, a possessive frown creasing his brow. “I need to refresh it.”
My breath hitched. “You want to mark me? Now?”
“I want to mark youthere,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine, an almost feral glint in their depths. “I want to walk into that party, and I want every single person who looks at you to see exactly whose you are. I want them to see the bruises. I want them to smell me on you.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just behind my ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m not going to deny the rumors, Tom. I’m going to confirm them. But not with words.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the cage of my chest. “Jax…”
“Go change,” he ordered, pulling back, his gaze sweeping over me with an unnerving intensity. “Wear the white t-shirt. The thin one.”
“Why?”
