Page 22 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
Yeah, right.
“Photos of you tied up, choking on our cocks, tears decorating your pale skin…” His pupils dilate, like he’s fucking turned on by that. “I say under a month before you break and get naked with one of us.”
“As I said, it’ll be a cold day in hell when that happens.”
He laughs. “Oh, I do like your bluster. But winter is coming, princess, and I’m pretty sure this is your own personal Hell.”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. A chill shoots down my spine that I try desperately to suppress. But my heart is beating against my ribs in a way that almost hurts, and I don’t know why I’m staying in this position. Why I’m letting him talk to me like this.
“But if it’s not…” He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “Feel free to let me know, and I’ll adjust the temperature.”
seven
sydney
“No.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Absolutely not.”
Dad frowns. “It could go a long way. I consulted a public relations team?—”
“For what?”
“For you.” He sighs and pats the cushion beside me. “Sit. Please?”
I slink closer and drop onto the couch beside him. When he called and asked if he could swing by, I was tempted to lie and say I was out. At the library or wherever. But something about this weekend was already feeling lonely, so I let him up.
And now he’s trying to get me to go out.
He holds out the black FSU Hockey sweatshirt. Their logo, the crossed hockey sticks with the snake intertwined, is front and center.
“Come to the game,” he reiterates. “You’ll sit with Perri and your two friends?—”
“You know I’ve only made two friends?”
His smile drops off. “I’m friends with some of the professors, particularly your Calculus professor, Amy. She’s had Dylan in her class before, said she mostly keeps a small circle of friends and doesn’t tend to be influenced by rumors or gossip. Which is exactly what you need.”
“Right…”
“You can travel with me.” He smiles, then grabs my phone from the coffee table and pushes it into my hands. “Text your friends and get ready. I’ll wait.”
He’s clearly not taking no for an answer.
I sigh, reaching for the sweatshirt and phone. I close myself in my bedroom and shut my eyes, counting to ten.
Maybe a ride with Dad to the stadium might provide some much-needed time to interrogate him. I mean, get to know him better. Or at least find out more about my mother, see if he has any information that could point me toward her…
I change, pull my long dark hair up into a high ponytail and slick on some makeup. At the last second, I snag a black headband that’ll keep my hair warm, pulling out the few strands of long, outgrown curtain bangs. I don’t even think I can classify them as bangs at this point.
The ride to the stadium, however, isn’t what I expect.
Because he heads away from the arena, instead coasting to a stop in front of a tiny single-family home. It’s white, but all the windows are dark.
A second later, the freaking goalie comes out the door on the attached garage. He tosses his hockey bag into the bed of the truck. He stops short when he sees me already in the front seat, changes directions, and climbs in the back. Right behind me.
“Have you met Penn Walker?”
I crane around and eye him. He, like my father, is wearing a suit. His is light gray with matching slacks. White shirt. Royal-purple tie. His hair is combed back, out of his face, and he offers me an award-winning smile.
“Sydney, I presume? You didn’t say your daughter was coming along, Coach.”