Page 7 of Hot Shot Rock Star
“Violence.” I let the word sit in the air and wrap itself around him as I take a step back toward him and look down at him. “I ache to beat the fuck out of you, Hal. Don’t test me on that.”
“I’ll sue you—”
“For what? We never had this conversation.” I turn and walk away before my surge of blood lust gets the better of me. He sputters something behind me, realizing I’m right, that he has nothing but his word against mine. Because I’m not a complete Neanderthal.
* * *
By the timeI get to the rink for practice, I’m in a good mood and I kill it on the ice, scoring in a quick scrimmage. Sitting in the locker room afterward with the sweat still dripping, I pick up my phone when it buzzes. It’s Jazzy texting me that she’ll be at my game Thursday night because Hal cancelled the extra session he had scheduled for her. I laugh even though I know it’s not going to be this simple with Hal, not by a long shot. But I don’t mind winning the first skirmish.
“What’s with you?” Kodi grins at me, dropping on the bench next to me. He’s already changed into sweats. “Coming out after the game on Thursday? All the guys are committed to going to Mustang Harry’s. Some shit about building team camaraderie. I’m in it for the beers and the puck bunnies.” I laugh at him. He’s been in the league three years, but he acts like a rookie, and I feel like the adult compared to him.
“Sure, why not?” He slaps my back.
“That’s what I like to hear. ’Bout time you came out with the team.”
“I’ll check with my—with Jazzy.”
“You married?”
“Nah. Living together, so may as well be.”
“You’re practically shackled to your woman, and you’re way too young for that shit. But good luck to you.”
“I’ll need it. She’s a musician.” I pull on my sneakers.
“That right? Why don’t you bring her with you?”
“I will.” He shakes his head.
“Be a good test to see if she can stand up to the life.” I’m not sure what he means by that, but I don’t have a chance to ask because the coach comes in and calls a meeting. The surprise makes me smile, makes my lie to Jazzy a little bit less of a lie. But I have a bad feeling my conscience will come crashing down on me the minute I see her and she looks at me with that star-struck trust like I’m something special, her fucking unicorn.
* * *
When I get homeshe’s in her music room, sitting on her stool, hunched over some sheet music with her guitar slung over one shoulder and hanging at her side. My heart expands so hard and fast it feels like it’s going to blow up. Emblazoning the picture of her this way in my memory, I slip inside the room and wrap my arms around her, nuzzling her neck from behind the way that never fails to make her shiver with pleasure.
“Oh my god, you kill me.” She doesn’t disappoint me with her shiver as she turns to me.
“Did I startle you?” She laughs.
“Did you think I wouldn’t feel your presence, hear you come in the door because I’ve been waiting for you? Smell the essence of you as soon as you were within whiffing distance?” She strokes my cheek, running her nails along my jawline, making my cock flinch because I’m a sucker for her touch. I wonder fleetingly if my physical addiction to her is good for hockey, but I discard the idea because today was a great day on the ice, wasn’t it?
“You’re an animal,” I say on a laugh and sit behind her, pushing her half off the stool. She protests and I lift her onto my lap, solving two problems. She has a place to sit, and I have her ass massaging my needy cock. She grins at me with an arched brow.
“Says the black pot to the blacker kettle.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She waves a hand.
“One of Majik’s sayings.”
“I know it is.” I nuzzle her again as I slide my hands under her sweater. Of course, I know all about Majik’s old-time sayings. She elbows me. Then she stands and puts her sheets of paper on the table, turning to me, serious as fuck.
“So, tell me about your day?” she pauses and my stomach drops. “Did you talk to Hal?” She asks, deadly sweet. Shit.
“Yes.” There’s no question that I’ll confess all. My heart speeds up but I check it. Lying by omission is one thing, but I’m not that dick who is going to compound things by making up a story, save for the excuse about leaving early for a meeting.
“Tell me about it.”
“Nothing to tell.”
