Page 9 of Pucking Them
He’s a control freak like that.
Okay, I admit that I love it.
“Which ones?” Excitement rushes through me.
“You’ll have to guess.” D’Angelo’s voice is deep and dangerous. “Not knowing which of your dark desires you’ll earn if we win a game will only add to the anticipation. Delayed pleasure is the best kind, don’t you agree, cara mia?”
“Can I say no, when we both know that the answer is yes?”
Before he can answer (no doubt smugly by the curve of his unfairly sensual lips), a high-pitched voice begs from my pocket:“Help, I’m trapped.”
“There appears to be a tiny man trapped in your pocket,” D’Angelo points out, dryly. “Have you been going around kidnapping pixies because they’re cute?”
“It’s fae romance that I’m reading right now, and even their dicks wouldn’t fit in my pocket.” I pull out my phone. “That’s my notification sound. Shay keeps recording different ones tocheer me up with Eden aiding and abetting him. I’ve been receiving so many from the press over the last month that it’s been exhausting. They wanted to help me smile, while I’ve been working such long hours…and barely being off this damn phone.”
I look up to catch Shay grinning at me. He salutes, then he launches the ball at the back of the net, before nonchalantly walking back to the middle of the pitch with a cocky smirk.
“Are you okay?” D’Angelo grips my chin, pulling my attention back onto him. “This is meant to be our weekend together away from work.”
I pull my chin out of his hold. “Unfortunately, I still have a job to do. And after you decided to come out so dramatically as being in a poly relationship with me in the middle of the arena on game night…”
“I remember you being part of it too, along with Shay and Eden.”
“How could I forget that? It was the best night of my life. It felt amazing to finally be open like that. It’s been fucking liberating not to have to hide and keep our relationship secret anymore. On the other hand, what has been a PR triumph with the staff, team, and certain fans, has also been a disaster with the board, superfans, and press. Well, most of them.” My knuckles whiten around my phone. “I’ve been fighting fires with my charm, offers for interviews, and Eden’s photography skills. Admittedly, Eden’s skills work much better than my charms.”
“Only because they don’t know the same charms as I do.” D’Angelo thumbs along my cheek, and I flush.
“Sorry, I have to check this.” I pale, however, when I open the message on my phone.
“What is it?” D’Angelo’s voice is threaded with concern.
“Just a link to another press headline.” I thrust the phone violently back into my pocket. “They’ve been rough this month,but we knew that they would be. You focus on the games, and I’ll focus on the press. It’s my job to shield you.”
“Principessa, it’s my job to shield you too. We swore that we weren’t going to hide anything from each other anymore. You better tell me or…” He dives to the glass bowl of strawberries, shoving them behind his back. “No more treats.”
My mouth tightens.
Well played.
“The headline read:Pucking Them: The Problem with the NHL Polycule.”
D’Angelo’s eyes flash with anger. “So, we have a nickname, the NHL Polycule…? What’s ourproblem, precisely?”
“Who knows? Even though they know nothing about us or poly relationships, we’ve been accused by the media ofcheating, jealousy, and immorality. They blamemefor corrupting you players and probably fucking your careers.” I try not to let it show that I share that fear but I’m not sure that I’m successful. “At best they seem to think that this is a type of kinky set up for us.”
“They’re right on the kinky.” D’Angelo is fiddling with his cuffs compulsively. Shocked, I realize that his hands are shaking. “The prejudiced assholes can write whatever they like about me. After all, I’ve given them material for years with my wild partying. But I won’t let them write that bullshit about Shay, Eden, or you. What do we do?”
Suddenly, I realize that his hands are shaking fromrage.
Gently, I scoot closer to him, until our thighs are touching. “I’ll arrange an interview with a friendly journalist who I trust not to twist what I say and present our side. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I mean it, your head needs to be in the games next week.”
D’Angelo’s heavy, assessing gaze settles on me.
I squirm.
It’s almost like D’Angelo knows me well enough that I am hiding something else.
To be fair, Eden and I both are.
