Page 40 of Devious Obsession
When I turn my attention back out onto the ice, Steele is stretching. He’s got both legs spread out on the ice, leaning forward and bracing his weight on his hands. He flexes his hips down, anddamn itif it doesn’t look dirty.
“I love that one,” Violet murmurs to Willow.
Eventually, the players file off the ice and the Zamboni rumbles out. Violet glances at her phone, and her cheeks heat. I’m not that nosy, but I’m dying to know what sort of shit Greyson says to her.
“How’d Maverick look?” Thalia asks me.
I cringe. I hadn’t even checked the other side of the rink, where the opposing team was warming up. “Fine,” I lie. “Tip-top shape.”
Thalia rolls her eyes. “Liar,” she whispers. “Don’t worry, your secret obsession with your tormentor-slash-brother is safe with me.”
“He’s not my brother.”
Because, ew.
“Okay, okay, fine.”
I snap to attention when the players come back out, just the starters, and take their positions. They’re joined by a ref in the middle, and Knox and one of the Knights, in a white-and-red jersey, lean down.
The ref drops the puck, and the game begins.
My eyes lift to the suspended cube above our heads. It cycles through the players and statistics, with the time left in the period and scores underneath it in red.
The crowd is quieter than usual. The rough skating noises, the scrape of blades across the ice, is almost the loudest part. I find Josh, the Knight whose jersey I wear, and a second later he gets the puck. He skates furiously down toward our goal.
Steele comes out of nowhere. Josh passes it, but Steele still slams into him at full speed. They both crash into the glass on the opposite side.
I gasp.
Both players shove off each other and go their own ways—but moments later, the same thing happens. Josh gets the puck. Steele is right there, body-checking him. Maybe harder than is necessary—I don’t know.
It gets to the point where I ignore the rest of the game and solely track Josh around the rink. Not because I’m fixated on him, but because wherever he is, Steele doesn’t seem to be far behind.
By the end of the first period, my nerves are strung out.
The bell sounds, and I shoot to my feet.
“Are you okay?” Thalia asks.
Her voice sounds a million miles away. I wave her off and slip past her, hurrying up the aisle. Is Steele starting shit on purpose? Hunting after him because I’m wearing his jersey?
The thought is ridiculous.
The bet on who gets a shot with me, or whatever he said, is stupid enough. Butthis?
“How much for a blowie?” someone calls.
I ignore it and continue into the hall.
But then someone grabs my wrist and tugs me around, and I come face-to-face with… a complete stranger. Older, too. Definitely not a Crown Point student.
“I asked you a question.” His eyebrow raises. “How much?”
“Fuck off,” I snap and tug my wrist free. I hurry into the women’s bathroom and lock myself in the stall, fishing out my phone.
One new message. Not from Steele, though.
Uncle
