Devious obsession, p.18
Devious Obsession, page 18
That’s a voice I would recognize anywhere.
My twelve-year-old sister, Lennox, charges through the hotel lobby and performs an expert flying tackle. I brace at the last minute, scooping her up and swinging her around. She’s tiny, especially for her age. Light enough to lift off her feet for a minute before returning her to the floor.
Her arms are locked around my neck, and even when she stands, she doesn’t release me. I’m left awkwardly bent over. I pat her arm, then force her hands apart. To cover for the rough handling, I slide my hand through her blonde hair.
Super blonde, almost platinum, like our mother.
“Hi,” I whisper.
She beams at me. “I knew I’d find you first.”
“That you did.”
“Aspen!” Mom calls, striding toward us. “Lennox, I told you not to run off.”
Len pouts. “But I was running to Asp, Mom. That’s gotta be okay. We haven’t seen her in forever.”
“It’s only been two months, kid.”
Two months is a lot. I try not to let that pang of guilt hit me. The one that says I should’ve gone home to visit or something. Called more. I don’t know.
Mom, Dakota, and Stephen join us. I hug Mom first, shake Stephen’s hand, then face my fourteen-year-old sister. The grumpy one, apparently. She eyes me like she’s annoyed with me for even being here.
I ignore it and drag her into a hug. “Missed you, D.”
She exhales. Slowly, her arms come up, and she hugs me back. But just for a few seconds, then she squirms out of my hold.
“How are you feeling?” Stephen asks.
I tilt my head. “I’m fine.”
Mom touches his arm, then hugs me again. It’s impulsive, but I go with it. Logically, I get why she married Stephen. It’s just claiming to be in love that has me confused. She’s always claimed love, even over the summer. Dramatic assurances, or displays of affection, left me feeling… untethered.
If she could love him so quickly, what about dropping out of love? Could that happen even faster?
The answer is yes, of course. Love is this fragile little thing, wrapped in trust and respect. If one of its shells cracks, the love can break. Or—sometimes it just means that love becomes more jagged.
Fucked-up shards of love, cutting everyone and everything.
That was her and Dad.
“Is this your family, Aspen?” Violet asks from behind me.
I step aside. “Yes, sorry. These are my sisters, Dakota and Lennox. My mom, Mari, and…”
“Stephen O’Brien,” he introduces. “Pleasure.”
“Same,” Violet answers. “That’s Thalia, who you might already know, and Willow.” Violet’s gaze travels over my siblings and then my mom. “We were going to go to the Japanese place down the street. Do you all want to join us?”
“Oh, no, we have reservations at a steak house,” Stephen says.
I got used to him being… normal, I guess? Like, over the summer he would wear jeans or shorts and t-shirts, he’d do work in his yard or bike ride with my sisters. Hell, he even took my mother on a fishing trip once, decked out in waders and those wide-brimmed hats.
But now he’s completely in his element as the rich guy. The expensive, perfectly tailored suit. The haircut that probably cost more than my entire outfit. His gleaming watch. And Mom’s dressed in a different manner than I’m used to, as well. She went for black pants and a caramel-colored sweater, with layered necklaces. But her hair is curled, her makeup flawless.
Her demeanor is different, too. Less skittish.
I eye Stephen, chewing over what Steele told me on the bus. That he wants dirt on his own child to get him out of college and out of hockey. To force him on a path he doesn’t want. It sounds achingly familiar, and it makes me loathe Stephen just a little bit more.
“Aspen, are you joining us?” Thalia asks.
“We didn’t think we’d see you before the game, honey,” Mom says, her expression contrite. “We could adjust our reservation—”
“No, no, it’s okay.” I step back, closer to my friends. “I’m going to have dinner with them. We’ll see you after the game.”
They nod, and Stephen herds my mom away. The girls follow a bit more slowly, eyeing me with confusion.
“That was awkward,” Thalia whispers. She loops her arm around mine. “Are you going to put that on or just hold on to it all night?”
I sigh and shake out the jersey. It smells like him, which is probably the best—and worst—part. After what happened on the bus, the last thing I need is to have him on my mind every second, thinking about his hands on me.
Jeez. I need to get a hold of myself.
Slipping the jersey over my head feels like I’m being invaded by Steele from all sides. And it’s not unpleasant either. In fact, part of me never wants to exhale.
Did he wear it before he gave it to me?
Or spray it with his cologne?
I wouldn’t put either past him. Especially since his smell is so visceral, it drags up every lust-filled thought. And memory.
“Ready,” I say, smiling at my friends.
Friends. Plural.
Haven’t been able to say that in a while. But for the first time in too fucking long, I feel like it’s a hundred percent true.
Me
How’s your dinner meeting?
Steele
Coach is giving us a pep talk. *snoring emoji*
What’re you doing? What are you eating?
Our parents made dinner reservations and didn’t account for me.
Don’t take it personally, Dad probably doesn’t want to catch your looney tunes disease.
…
Sorry, too soon?
A hundred years would be too soon.
So, where’d you go??
Mars.
Aspen.
Some Japanese place with friends.
Girl friends?
Well, you scared off Chase, so yeah. All I have left are girl friends.
I feel exceptionally smug about that, little viper. And for the record, I had grilled chicken and a salad. It was quite boring.
Where did you go?
I’m eating.
Should we make it interesting?
Should we make WHAT interesting?
Do you have some food kink I didn’t know about? Because I’m gonna pass on that one…
What? No. The game.
(Obviously.)
I’m listening…
Well, the Devils are known for being particularly aggressive.
Are you proposing you get into a fight?
If it would turn you on, yeah.
What if you lose?
Baby, I never lose a fight.
But… are you saying you want me to lose? Or win?
A blow to your pride would certainly help. Shave off some of your ego.
A blow of something else would be even better ;)
I want to see blood.
Your blood. On the ice.
And if you’re lucky, I’ll kiss it and make it better later.
25
ASPEN
Part of me thought, Nah, Steele won’t get his hands dirty.
And yet, the gloves are coming off. Literally.
Steele and one of the Devils are skating in a circle. Both have ditched their gloves. They drift closer to where we’re sitting, and I lean forward.
I have no doubt that this is for my benefit.
They’ve been trash talking each other all night, shoving each other around. Seeking each other out—or maybe they’re just assigned to guard each other, I don’t know. Either way, the tension between them has been ratcheting up all night.
It’s the third period. The CPU Hawks are up by one. But there’s still ten minutes left, and a power play by the Devils could seriously hurt our chances of winning.
Basically, from what Violet has said—at this time, anything could happen.
The Devils player throws the first punch. Steele retaliates, hitting back with power that snaps the guy’s head to the side. They’re right in front of us, and the life in Steele’s eyes is enough to make my heart lurch.
I like it and hate it at the same time.
How’s that?
Steele’s helmet is torn off and tossed aside, and his opponent hammers his fist into Steele’s face. Steele shoves him away for a second and spits a glob of blood onto the ice. His face is red, blood coming out of his nose.
Suddenly, I don’t want him to lose.
I rise from my seat and bang on the glass. I scream, “Fuck him up!”
Steele’s brows furrow. He doesn’t look at me, but I swear he hears me. He comes back at the guy twice as hard and somehow gets him onto the ice.
The CPU crowd erupts.
We’re not on home ice—we’re outnumbered by Devils fans. But we sure do make a lot of ruckus. I’m not alone in banging on the glass as the refs separate them. Steele is pushed away, and he skates to the bench.
Someone examines his face, turning it this way and that. The Devils player climbs to his feet and skates off, expression dark.
Steele returns to the ice, skating toward us. He points at me and gives me a full-toothed smile. Even with his mouth guard, his teeth are stained pink with blood.
He steps up into the penalty box beside our section and takes a seat.
I shiver.
“Wow,” Willow murmurs. “That was hot. And I mean that in a respectful way.”
I snort and take my seat again. “Yeah, yeah.”
But on the inside, I’m smiling. Because I got what I wanted, and I can still see it. Steele’s blood left behind on the ice.
Except it backfires, because the Devils score while Steele is off the ice. The home crowd goes nuts, a horn sounding. Their music plays in celebration. It’s a little obnoxious, and my heart is in my throat.
They’re tied with eight and a half minutes remaining.
What if I cost them the game for this stupid challenge?
I keep looking over at the penalty box. It’s just a few feet away, practically taunting me. But Steele doesn’t so much as glance over. I get that, too. He needs his head in the game, and my momentary distraction could’ve cost them.
No, it did cost them.
When the power play is up, Steele is released from the penalty box. The Devils are pressing hard, on the heels of their goal. Steele, as a defenseman, charges back into the fray without hesitation. He shoves one of the Devils away from crowding Miles. The other Hawks move around the ice, and Greyson intercepts a pass.
He takes off, chased by Devils and Hawks alike.
The charge lights up the stadium.
It’s a one-on-one play, suddenly. Greyson versus their goalie.
He shoots.
Violet screams as it soars over the goalie’s shoulder and sinks into the net.
We all leap to our feet. The Hawks zoom toward Greyson, crashing into him in celebration. They slap his helmet, his arm, his back. He’s grinning widely; he skids to a halt in front of Violet. He pats his chest, then points at her, and damn it. My heart melts a little bit.
She’s feeling it, too, because her face goes totally gooey.
It’s kind of sweet and kind of gross.
I refocus on Steele. He’s on the bench now, and Greyson joins him. They drink water and exchange words, their attention fixed on the ice. My fingers itch, wanting to… I don’t know. I’ve got restless energy that doesn’t have a way out.
“They’re up by one,” Violet murmurs, patting my leg.
Five minutes left. Then four.
Greyson and Steele hop back over the wall, replacing two skaters who return to the bench, and they rush out with an unmatched fury. Steele body checks a player into the glass, and Greyson steals the puck, passing it long to a waiting Knox.
We jump to our feet again, the whole CPU crowd shouting. Knox to Greyson. To Finch, who gets slammed into the wall by a Devil. The puck soars free, and a Devil reclaims it—only to be met with Steele.
No one is playing nice anymore. There seems to be a frenzied tension amongst the teams as the clock ticks down. The whistle blows, and Willow points. Knox stands in front of Miles, Steele and Tony Rodrigues beside him. He’s squared up to one of the Devils players who looks like he might want to start shit.
But he backs down after a long moment, skating back to his bench.
The time gets closer to running out, and I stand. I’m not alone—it seems like that palpable energy is contagious. The players feed off the crowd, and vice versa. Steele comes back out again and plays the last few minutes, and I just take a second to marvel at him. Appreciating the way he moves, the way he holds the stick.
I shouldn’t do that… but I do.
The buzzer sounds with no more goals. The Crown Point University Hawks held off the Devils. The team flies out onto the ice, surrounding Miles and Knox. They all jump and cheer and celebrate, and I laugh.
“It’s going to be a good night for us,” Violet says. She elbows Willow.
Thalia giggles.
“Get yourself one of the Hawks,” Willow says to Thalia. “Even if it’s just for a night, because god damn, they’re going to fuck like animals.”
I cover my mouth to hide my wild laughter. Thalia blushes, glancing at me. But hey, I don’t have anything to add. It’s not like I have a habit of seeking out hockey players on a winning high.
Just one, I suppose.
We head out of the stadium and wait by the locker rooms. I’m getting weird looks, but I brush it off. Until a whole group of girls turn their heads to watch me as they pass.
“Do I have something in my hair or something?” I ask Thalia, glaring at the girls.
She glances from them to me, then shakes her head. “I think it’s the jersey.”
I look down at the dark-blue fabric.
Right.
Forgot about that one.
Violet glances at her phone, typing something. “Grey said to meet them at the pub on the corner of the stadium.”
“Oh, good.” Willow hooks her arm through Thalia’s.
My phone goes off.
Steele
Stay.
I meet the girls’ curious gazes. I realize I automatically took a step back.
“Um, I’m going to meet up with you in a few minutes…”
Violet snorts. “You’ve got our numbers. Text if you need anything.”
Right.
They head away from me, and I lean against the wall. The door doesn’t open for some time—long enough that I guess there must be some other exit for the players. Or maybe I’m just completely in the wrong place.
But eventually, the door opens and Steele steps out. He has his skates slung over his shoulder, and he drops his bag to the floor. He’s got a bruise forming on his cheek, and a split lip that probably contributed to the blood he spat on the ice during the game.
Without a word, he comes in close and cups my jaw, tipping my head back. His brown eyes burn into me, and for the first time, I understand what a fucking smolder is. I squeeze my thighs together, and a blush works its way up my neck.
His thumb sweeps along my lower lip, and then he leans down. He stops a hair’s breadth from touching me, his lips hovering over mine.
“Did you enjoy that?” he whispers.
I nod. My nose brushes his, and he exhales.
“So did I.” He smirks and rises. He takes my hand. “Come with me.”
I follow him through the lower level of the stadium, to the large gates where the Zamboni recently drove through. The ice is clean, free of any skate marks. The Zamboni itself sits against the wall, and I automatically pull toward that.
“They seem fun,” I say absently, running my hand over the wrapped side. It has the Devils’ mascot on the side and some advertising about tickets to home games. “To drive, I mean.”
He raises his eyebrow. “Well. Hop on up.”
I purse my lips, waiting for him to crack a laugh. When he doesn’t… who am I to object? I set my purse down, and he sets down his bag and skates beside it. He follows me to the little step-up ladder, his hands gripping the railing on either side of my body while I climb up.
A little thrill goes through me when I sit in the driver’s chair.
“How does it look?”
“Giant,” I murmur.
“This would be an apt time for a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.” Steele climbs up after me, stopping on the top step.
I run my hands over the steering wheel, the levers beside the chair. I have no idea how to drive it, and I don’t think I’m destructive enough to want to do it. Not on my own like this anyway.
“What are you afraid of?” Steele asks.
I meet his dark gaze. He’s not as… loud, I guess, as I was expecting. Like even though they’re coming off that win, and the energy is still simmering in my chest like a live wire, he seems quiet. Contemplative.
And I’m not sure if that’s because of me or him.
Or both.
“I’m afraid of a lot,” I say lightly. I twist to face him. It’s meant to be humorous, maybe, but it falls flat even in my ears. It’s the one bit of truth I’ll allow myself. That I’m desperately scared of a lot, and trying to face it has given me split results.
