Page 114 of Tempting Venom
He releases me and goes to do the rounds with the other new starters. This will be the first time some of us are playing together officially, so it’s bound to be clunky and lack some group coordination. I, for one, have only played alongside Richardson since high school. The others come from different schools, but oh well, it should be the same for the Vipers.
The crowd erupts in cheers as their players glide onto the ice, their white jerseys with blue stripes nearly blending in with it.
One of them, number thirteen, skates to the center.
Preston Armstrong.
He bows theatrically to the audience, his helmet tucked against his chest, his right arm stretched out with its fingers turned up elegantly, ankles crossed like a figure skater.
He looks up with a grin, dimples hollowing his cheeks, then cups a hand to his ear. The crowd erupts, bursting at the seams to scream for him.
My fingers tighten around my stick as that unfamiliar feeling surges to the surface, threatening to spill over.
There’s this intense need inside me to do something, but I’m not sure what or why.
This feeling has been the same since I first played against Armstrong in high school and has remained there during every single face-off since.
The tension.
The discomfort.
Theanger.
I suppose I dislike that he doesn’t remember me from when we met in Dad’s garden. He said we’d be friends, but he never kept his promise.
The next time we met around three years ago, during a game in high school, my heart squeezed with a sort of excitement that almost made it stop.
I’m finally seeing him again,I remember thinking.He’s actually here.
But then, Armstrong squared up to me and narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re their top scorer? Prepare to die, bitch!”
Ever since then, I’ve made it my mission to fucking humble him, poke him around at any available chance, block him, check him.
Targethim.
How dare heforgetabout me?
Just how fuckingdarehe completely erase me from his memories when mine overflow with him?
I think that’s the reason for these coiled emotions I have whenever I’m facing him. Doesn’t matter that I’m nineteen now and it’s been over twelve years since I first met him. I still bubble with these deplorable sensations.
If anything, time has only made them worse.
After he finishes greeting the crowd, Armstrong skates toward us, followed closely by Callahan and Davenport.
“Yo, rats!” he shouts in a cheerful tone. “You know, because Stantonville is a shithole and you guys crawled out of there? Hilarious, right?” He laughs at his own joke, his eyes gleaming with a provocative tinge. “Anyway, don’t go crying to your mamas after I crush you. Or actually, onsecond thought, please do, and don’t forget to send pictures!” He winks at Richardson. “Nice to see you again, Dicky. Will make you crawl tonight per usual.”
Richardson skates forward, about to let his temper loose, but I slide in front of him ever so smoothly and let my lips curl into a smile. “What about me? Is it not nice to see me?”
Armstrong’s smile falls, but only momentarily before he forces it wider. “Nah, it’s never nice to see rats. Shoo, Osborn, get better at defense before coming close to my highness.”
“I’m good enough to check you against all available boards. Like the last game during senior year, remember?”
“Your delusions are critical.”
“And your denial is pathological.” I shift closer to him. “You better be ready tonight. I plan to check you into fucking oblivion.”
“Dream on.”
