WRECKING THE CRUEL HOCKEY GOD

Chapter 6: Bag Of Muscles And Malice

The hand around my waist loosens and I straighten up on my own two feet.

Then I turn around slowly, already bracing myself. Rehearsing the "thanks, I'm fine" I'll throw at him so we can both move on with our lives.

But my hair yanks against my scalp with a stinging pain. I think it's caught on something.

I turn around and it's hooked on the strap buckle of a black gear bag, slung over a shoulder the size of a doorframe.

A chest that wide shouldn't be legal in a tight black gym shirt.

There's no f*****g way all this is happening to me on day one.

I don't want to look up. Every functioning brain cell I own is begging me not to look up.

But my eyes do it anyway, dragging past a jaw with the kind of stubble that looks intentionally shaved, past the lips I've seen on my screen before.

Then… dark brown eyes. Up close in a way no zoomed-in photo on my phone ever prepared me for.

Every English word I've ever known in my entire life packs up and leaves my head at once.

And my hair is still stuck on his bag. While I'm standing close enough to count the exact number of ways this is humiliating.

His gaze drops to the tangled strands, he tilts his head, and unhooks them himself—careful, unhurried, we've got all day, haven't we?

"You've got clumsy hair, Mara Kensley." He tucks a loose piece behind my ear slowly.

His fingers graze my ear and the chills from his touch cause me to stiffen.

"It's fine, I got it." I step back immediately, nearly clipping Garrett behind me, and the words come out sounding like I learned English from an android app.

"So." He looks me over, unbothered. “What are you doing here?" His deep voice rumbles something behind my ribs.

"You can't possibly be the reporter chosen for my tour. Unless there's been a glitch somewhere at IceLine Media.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth, and half the bus laughs.

I straighten my blazer, plant my feet, and stick my hand out, just like we do in real interviews.

"Mara Kensley. Mr. Zester chose me specifically for this assignment."

I gesture beside me with my other hand. "And that's my colleague, Garrett Mendez."

Zykiel looks down at my outstretched hand like it's the most amusing thing he's seen all week.

He reaches out, but instead of giving me a civilized handshake, he slowly pushes my hand down, like a gentleman.

"Keep it. Looks too small for a handshake… even if it's clearly capable of doing some real damage."

My stomach lurches. And I swallow down the biggest gulp of shame and embarrassment I've ever been served, nodding at him like a bobblehead. "Sure. Yes."

I wipe my hand against my dress once he lets go, because I genuinely don't know what else to do with it, and my jaw's already aching from how hard I'm clenching it.

"Welcome to the tour, Mara Kensley." His eyes hold mine a second longer than necessary before he finally steps around me. "Hope you have a great time with the team."

I watch him move down the aisle, and I hate how much watching him is exactly what my eyes wish to do.

He's bigger than the videos. Built differently than the guy I used to zoom in on two years ago.

His hair's long enough now to tie back, and the black shirt does him zero favors in terms of me forgetting how attractive I once found this bag of pure muscles and malice.

I want to grab him by the strap of that gear bag and demand answers about the thing he did with Finn. I want it so bad I would scream about it.

But I'm going to bite it down, because I refuse to give him the satisfaction of watching me unravel in front of his whole team on day one.

He drops the bag on the back bench, sits, and spreads his legs, like the whole back bench was a throne left for him.

Good. Stay all the way back there.

Mikael claps his hands from the front. "Let's go, Gunnerfuckers!"

He drags the door shut and the bus rolls forward, almost tipping me over, but I've got my hand on one of the seats for support.

There's one open seat in my front, just by the window. Black leather, empty, and everybody else is already deep in conversation or taking pictures like this bus ride is content.

Garrett's found his own seat and waves me toward the empty one.

The only issue is, Finn's sitting directly behind that empty seat. Him and his redhead girlfriend, who's been sucking on a lollipop and smirking at me since I entered this bus.

That's the girl he said actually matches him? Sure. Makes total sense.

I drop into the window seat anyway, hoping nobody else claims the one beside me. I just want to sit here and quietly process the fact that my entire nervous system has already been hijacked, just by being on this bus.

Somebody drops into the seat next to me, hard enough to bounce it.

"You good? You look tense," Mikael asks, grinning at me like we're already besties.

"I'm doing just fine, thanks Mikael.”

I barely have enough time to settle into my seat before Finn throws an arm over the backrest behind Mikael.

He taps Mikael's shoulder, deliberately ignoring the fact that I exist. "Yo, we still doing the thing tonight?"

"Obviously." Mikael twists around. "Party's already got a DJ lined up."

"You making your cocktail again right?" Finn asks.

Mikael snorts. "Depends on. You trying to kill somebody?"

A couple of players nearby burst into laughter.

Finn points toward the fourth row. "Nah. I'd love to see Jax naked again."

The entire bus erupts with a crazy amount of laughs.

"Oh, hell no!" A guy with shaggy blond hair shoots upright from the fourth seat, pointing at Finn. "We're not bringing that story back, Finn!"

Mikael is already laughing too hard to breathe.

"You stripped down to your boxers because you swore your shirt was choking you," Mikael screams.

"It WAS choking me! It was a tank top!"

The bus explodes again and Finn wipes tears from his eyes.

"One shot." He holds up a single finger. “Just one tiny shot of the cocktail, and this i***t spends the next four hours throwing up behind the pool house."

"I wasn't throwing up, you lunatic!"

“Man, if you're gonna vomit rice tonight, just have some chicken coming with it.”

“Hahahahahah!” The bus literally turns into a war zone of laughter.

Jax slaps both hands over his face. “I hate every single one of you."

"Oh, I'm not done with you, man," Mikael says.

Jax shoots to his feet, beating a fist dramatically against his chest. "Try me again tonight!"

He points around the bus. "I'll survive that cocktail this time. Matter of fact, give me two shots!"

The team whistles and cheers.

Finn shakes his head. "Someone's gotta record him. We're getting another documentary."

"The Return of Naked Jax!" Mikael screams, exploding with laughter.

A tiny smile finally touches my lips and I clear my throat, leaning toward Mikael. "You guys are having a party tonight?"

Mikael turns back with an easy grin, tears of laughter glistening from his eyes. "Yep. First night welcome party. Nobody misses it."

“Well… that would've been useful information, since I packed like I was attending a corporate conference.”

I lean close enough to whisper. "Well... I hope you've got a section reserved for the corporate baddies. That's the only costume I've got in my bag.”

Mikael laughs. "Cleo would've loved that. She probably could've found you something."

"Cleo?" He calls out, turning around to look back.

I turn as well, just to see who the heck Cleo is, and my eyes accidentally crash on Zykiel's instead.

To my absolute horror, he was already staring at me.

I whip my head back toward the window—I probably pulled a muscle from how fast I did it.

He hasn't stopped watching me since I stepped onto this bus and that's chilling me to the bones.