Page 162 of Secret Obsession
I could get used to her initiating contact like this. I waited—painstakingly—for her to kiss me first. Although that feels like months ago at this point. Her tongue touches my lip, and I open my mouth for her.
Her kiss is hungry, insistent.
“If you’re not careful, I’m going to be ready for another round,” I warn.
“Maybe I just want you all messed up inside like me,” she replies.
Is she messed up inside?
Well,yeah. But I mean, from this?
Before my mind can catch up, she’s stepped away and tamed her wild hair. I adjust my jeans and chuckle to myself, then follow her back to the hallway. Down to the elevator, and up a floor. I take her hand, unwilling to be parted from her again, and we walk the path ’til I spot the right section.
Our friends left the two aisle seats open for us, and we quickly slip into them. We’re at the glass, directly across from the Titans’ bench. Perfect seats for when one of those fuckers gets thrown in the penalty box.
“You missed most of the first period,” Aspen says, then immediately hugs Willow. “You sounded amazing.”
My girl laughs nervously, leaning into me. “Thanks. It was nerve-racking.”
“We knew you could do it,” Violet says. “Sorry for tricking you to get to the arena, I just couldn’t bear the thought of you unhappy. We came up with that scheme for a date afternoon. But then Miles told us his plan for you to sing, and you crushed it.”
“I never heard you sing.”
My gaze lifts to my brother, all the way at the other end. He hadn’t come to find us when we arrived, and I kind of forgot that he didn’t return on the bus with the rest of the team.
Of course he wouldn’t. He’d do anything for me… except give up a bet, of course.
Willow gives him a brittle smile. “Some things aren’t meant for flings.”
Knox narrows his eyes at her. My smile widens.
“How’s the game?” Willow asks.
Greyson points. “Rhodes is pissed about something.”
We turn our attention to our friend. He’s on the ice, and the set of his jaw is a familiar one. His laser focus is directed at the puck, and he races toward the player skating toward him. He checks him into the glass in front of us, the whole wall bouncing and reverberating with the force of it.
He steals the puck and passes to a teammate, then throws his shoulder into the other player’s gut when he tries to stand.
Then he’s off.
“Wow,” Aspen murmurs. “Um… is he okay?”
Steele shrugs. “Never seen him quite so angry, but maybe he’s just blowing off steam.”
I glance up at the clock. Six minutes left of the first period.
At the five-minute mark, he starts a fight. Gloves off, helmet tossed, it’s more of a brawl than anything else. I have no idea what he says to the other guy to bait him, but suddenly they’re both swinging and bleeding.
Jacob gets his opponent down on the ice, but he doesn’t stop punching. The refs and linemen swarm him, and it takes three of them to drag him up and away.
Well, shit.
49
JACOB
No one knows agony like I do.
