Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1
Offside: Chapter 45

What a bullshit call.

Eleven minutes into the second period against the Coastal U Sharks, I stepped into the penalty box. Serving two minutes in the sin bin. For what? Nothing. Gardiner hooked me on a breakaway, and somehow, I ended up with the penalty. Fuck that decision, and I not so politely told the refs as much. Then Miller reamed me out for beaking off to the officials.

Whatever.

Near the end of the third period, Gardiner got a hold of the puck again and sped straight for Ty. We were winning by two, but that didn’t mean we could afford to give up our lead. Our defense was out to lunch, literally looking the other way, so I dug into the ice and barreled straight for him.

Seconds later, I crashed into him, shoulder to shoulder, freeing the puck while he flew into the boards. It was a perfectly clean—if brutal—hit.

Okay, fine. There may have been a slight element of retribution for the hooking.

Gardiner shook himself off, spun around, and skated after me. We raced for the puck, but when he caught up, he grabbed my jersey and yanked me toward him. He wasn’t usually that aggressive on the ice, so it caught me off guard, and before I could react, he clocked me square in the face.

He landed that initial hit.

But I landed more.

Despite that, by the time the refs intervened, I had a nasty gash on my left eyebrow. The bleeding didn’t last long, but I could feel it swelling with each second.

By the time the final buzzer sounded, I had blood on my jersey that wasn’t mine and had set a season record for both penalties taken and drawn in one game. Maybe a career record.

Without getting a look at myself in a mirror, I could tell that my jaw was bruised too. That was probably going to hurt like a bitch when I kissed James later. And when I found myself between her legs, which was the plan.

For once, I was kind of glad she was at school trying to meet a deadline instead of watching in the stands. It wasn’t my finest game. I’d gotten a goal and an assist, but I gave up the puck far more than I should have and botched a few basic passes.

Miller said my performance was uneven, and he was right.

After hitting the showers, I was a little more emotionally stable. But I still had this pervasive low-level irritation buried deep within me, like there was a tiny pebble in my shoe. Or in my skate, rather. Somehow, it made all the pressure I was constantly under a lot less tolerable.

I got dressed silently, mind swirling with a category five hurricane of thoughts and worries. Bailey, hockey, school, Coach Miller, our upcoming game with Callingwood, Bailey again, Los Angeles. Bailey and Los Angeles—fuck. Hadn’t even begun to think about that.

“What’s going on, Carter? Your fuse is way shorter than usual tonight.” Dallas slipped into his charcoal suit pants and scanned my face with those glacial blue eyes. “You have for a while now. Things all good with Bailey?”

I dropped my gaze, buttoning my white dress shirt. “Things are fine. They’re great, I mean. Guess I have some pent-up aggression after that shit Morrison pulled with her.”

And by some, I meant a metric fuckton. Much as I tried to let it go, I couldn’t. What Morrison did had been weighing on my mind since Bailey told me. That he got away with pulling that without any form of immediate consequence was making me insane.

“Still can’t believe he did that. He’s lucky you didn’t show up.” Dallas shook his head, square jaw set.

“Incredibly lucky.” Though James was right; it was probably lucky for me too. Morrison couldn’t fight for shit. I would have demolished him. Literally.

He thumped me on the back hard enough to almost wind me. “Don’t worry. We’re going to crush Callingwood next time we play. I’ll make sure of it. Already laying the groundwork with the other guys.”

“You’re going to help me plan the perfect hit on that fucker too,” I said. “Take him clean out of the game again.”

I had been fantasizing about that more times than I cared to admit.

The impact, the crunch, the fall.

Maybe a light splatter of blood left on the ice.

It was going to be spectacular.

Dallas nodded. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

“I do too,” Ty chimed in. “I saw this sick hit Stevens took from Younger last week. You should look up the replay. Younger fucking creamed him. He’ll be out for weeks.”

“Doubt Stevens will ever see the ice again anyway. He’s suspended indefinitely because of that sex tape scandal. Did you guys hear about that?” Dallas let out a low whistle. “That’s messed up, man.”

“I know,” I said. “What a fucking creep.” Nothing worse than a guy taking advantage of women like that.

“No kidding.” Ty snorted, slipping into his navy blue suit jacket. “And everyone knows if you’re going to film shit, you have to make people sign a waiver.”

Dallas glanced over at him. “Um, what?”

My phone pinged, and I glanced down, expecting a text from Bailey but seeing Derek’s name instead.

Derek: FYI, had to tell Bailey the financial situation had improved. Didn’t tell her why. Leaving that up to you.

Chase: Thanks, man. Appreciate it.

Well, shit. I’d been hoping to delay that talk, but now I’d probably have to come clean before she put the pieces together herself.

But maybe I could delay a little longer. Guess I could gauge the mood when I saw her.

“You still coming for dinner?” Ty asked.

“Yeah, just have to head out after to pick up James.”

Halfway through my chicken club sandwich, Penner slid into the seat next to me at O’Connor’s.

“Carter, haven’t seen you out in ages.”

“I saw you last weekend. Remember?” Maybe he didn’t. He was blackout drunk with his tongue down Kristen’s throat. When she wasn’t making eyes at me, that is. Penner didn’t seem to notice that part. Hopefully James didn’t either.

I wished I could go back and erase everyone I’d slept with before her. It would simplify my life immensely.

His brow furrowed. “Oh yeah. Your girlfriend is fucking hot.”

“I know.” I picked up my pint glass and took a sip. “What about you and Kristen? Is that serious?” Please say yes so she gets off my jock.

“We’ll see. Keeping it casual right now.”

Yeah, good luck with that. I tried to do that too, and she went Fatal Attraction on my ass.

His attention slid to the door, where she’d just walked in. Speak of the she-devil. A group of her friends at another table across the room called her name, waving her over. With any luck, they’d stay over there. At least until I bailed.

“I’d better go,” he said, “but we’ll see you at the gala.”

“The gala?”

Penner nodded. “Yeah. We’re at your table.”

I schooled my expression, pretending like I knew. I did not. And I was not pleased about this development.

“Oh, right. See you then.”

As Penner walked away, I stood up, slid my plate down a few seats, and eased into an empty chair beside Ty.

“What the fuck, Ty? Penner was the only person you could come up with?” I hissed under my breath.

The table for eight cost five grand. It was for a good cause, so I didn’t particularly mind. But with the steep ticket price, not all the guys could go, let alone bring a date—which made filling the last two seats at our table tricky. Ward and I let Ty handle it, and he said he would. But Kristen? Had Tyler lost his mind?

Ty set down his burger and raised his eyebrows, evidently miffed at my combative tone. “What?”

“Don’t you think that’s going to be a little awkward for me?” I stabbed my french fry into the ketchup and bit into it.

Guilt creeped into his expression. “Fuck, man. He didn’t tell me she was his date.”

Tyler paid approximately zero attention to the love lives of other people, so this excuse checked out.

Gripping my glass, I sucked in a breath. “Look, I know you don’t do the whole dating thing, so you don’t understand. But for future reference, sharing a table with someone who still tries to fuck you isn’t ideal. Especially when your girlfriend will be in attendance too.”

Should I warn Bailey about Kristen ahead of time? Or play it cool and pray? If I warned her, she’d be on edge all night. If I didn’t, she might wonder what the fuck the deal was.

“Sorry.” He let out a long breath and looked me in the eye. “I just wanted to unload the tickets. Do you want me to see if I can get them to switch with someone?”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. That’ll make it into an even bigger issue.” Biting into my sandwich aggressively, I chewed and swallowed before continuing. “Truth is, I’m worried Morrison will be there too. He came last year. Between the two of them, I’m scared the night will turn into a clusterfuck.”

It almost made me second-guess going. But the tickets had already been paid for and, in theory, it would be a nice night out with Dallas and Shiv, plus Ty and whoever he dragged up. As long as those other things didn’t go off the rails.

“It’s a classy affair,” Ty said. “I think everyone will stay in line. But did you hear…” His voice grew quiet, and he furrowed his brow, dark eyes darting around the table to check for anyone listening.

“Hear what?”

“It’s probably just a rumor. But someone told me Los Angeles was talking to him.”

I almost blacked out.

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?

“You’re kidding me.”

Los Angeles did have a need for some bodies to fill the fourth line. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be playing down there.

But Morrison? If I ended up on the same team as that dipshit, I was going to get kicked off or arrested. Maybe both.

BAILEY

Two exams, one massive essay, and one disastrous group project later, I’d almost survived the week. Unfortunately, it meant I had barely seen Chase. We were both feeling the strain of that. His constant stream of spicy and sweet texts said as much.

My phone buzzed on the table in the Callingwood Daily office.

Chase: I’m going to strip off your clothes and devour you later.

Bailey: Is that a promise?

Chase: Absolutely.

Bailey: Can’t wait to see you.

Chase: You have no idea.

Chase: Wrapping up dinner with the team. Be there in half an hour.

Biting back a smile, I shook my head and locked my phone, then flipped it facedown. I still had to finish a few tasks before I could let my mind wander in that direction. Even though the tug between my legs said other parts of my body already had.

I missed those big, strong hands. Those demanding lips. That low voice in my ear. That wall of muscle pressed against my body…

Oh god. Get it together, Bailey.

“Here.” I clicked send, and my laptop chimed, letting me know the email had left my outbox. “I sent you the art show piece for your review, Noelle. I think it should be pretty clean, but let me know if it needs any edits or trimming.”

“Thanks, B.” Noelle didn’t look up from the newspaper layout she was finalizing. When she was in the zone, she didn’t switch gears for even a second. She raked a hand through her blunt, midnight bob, thick hair falling perfectly back into place.

I reached over and grabbed my now-cold coffee and gulped the rest of it back. I’d pushed through the week fueled by excessive caffeine, sheer determination, and copious amounts of unhealthy food. Probably pushing the upper limits of safe caffeine consumption at this point, but I needed to be functional for a few more hours.

I could start healthy habits another time—like after graduation.

Checking the time, I did a quick mental calculation and determined I could submit my internship application before Chase arrived. I already had a current resume because of the scholarship package, so all I had to add was a quick cover letter. After writing that up, I crossed my fingers and held my breath, then submitted it to the email address listed. Then I let out a heavy sigh, trying to calm my nerves. Between the internship and the scholarship, maybe one of them would work out.

Before I knew it, an innocent kiss hello turned into a full-on make-out session in the parking lot.

Chase tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer. My chest fluttered as his lips slanted against mine, the kiss turning heated and demanding. He pushed deeper into my mouth as he grabbed me by the hips and picked me up, placing me on top of him.

I was literally straddling him, complete with the steering wheel digging into my backside. And something else digging in between my legs. It was exceedingly cramped, not to mention incredibly public.

I didn’t care.

We were parked in the back corner of the lot, at least.

Mouth still latched to mine, he slid his palms down my sides and gripped my ass, crushing my body against his. The pull between my legs intensified, pleasure curling through my core. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, clutching the firm muscle to steady myself. Every touch, every movement he made, ramped up my desire, making me lightheaded, almost dizzy.

I only snapped back to reality when his hands slid under the hem of my shirt and crept up along my bare skin.

“Carter.” I giggled and pulled back, grabbing hold of his large wrists.

He ducked his head, capturing my lips with his again. “Sorry,” he murmured against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip and releasing it. “Forgot where I was for a minute.”

We pulled apart, and I studied his face, including the bright red gash above his eyebrow. Carefully, I cupped his chin and turned his head to replace a fresh bruise blooming on the right side of his jaw. I caressed his skin with gentle fingers, afraid to push too hard and inflict more pain.

I winced. “Do those hurt?”

“A little.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “But not as much as what I did to the other guys, probably.”

“You didn’t tell me you got into a fight.”

Chase could definitely throw down gloves—and he didn’t back away from it when someone else did—but he didn’t fight all that frequently. He was more prone to trash talking and rattling the other side so they missed shots and made other stupid errors. Occasionally, he engaged in the odd shoving match or a scrum, generally falling short of an altercation.

College hockey was strict, which meant full-on fist fighting didn’t happen nearly as often as it did in the NHL. If this was a glimpse into the crystal ball, I was a little worried about the future. I’d never seen him look so ragged after a game.

“Got into a few,” he said. “But I figured you’d do the math when you saw me.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Chase lifted a shoulder. He was being evasive. “I didn’t start most of them.”

I tried to fight a smile and failed. “You mean you didn’t throw the first punch.” We both knew fights started long before that.

“Close enough.” One hand slid up the side of my neck, drawing my lips to his again. I melted a little, desire unraveling within me. “Maybe I was going through James withdrawal. I hear it’s very serious. Life-threatening, potentially.”

My heart stuttered. He knew how to work me inside and out.

“You’re changing the subject,” I said between kisses. “And it’s working.”

After another minute and another failed attempt of his to start removing my clothes, we grew too impatient to stay in the parking lot.

“Let’s go home,” I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Then we can pick up where we left off.”

“Deal.”

I climbed off him and buckled my seat belt while he adjusted himself before shifting the truck into reverse. At least I wasn’t the only one who was hot and bothered.

“By the way,” he said, glancing down at the backup camera, “did you get hit on while you were walking over to the truck?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

Chase laughed and shook his head. “And you said you never get hit on. What did that guy say?”

“He asked if I knew CPR…because I took his breath away.” I rolled my eyes.

“Psh. Weak pickup line.”

It was. You could tell the guy was just roaming campus, throwing that out to every solo girl he encountered.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller.” I reached over and poked him in the ribs.

He flinched and caught hold of my hand, placing it palm-down on his thigh. My mind instantly traveled back to our kiss moments ago and all the things that would happen in about twenty minutes.

“Hey, that kept you talking to me for a solid couple of minutes. Better than getting shot down out of the gate.”

“Pretty sure I did shoot you down,” I said, squeezing his leg. “You just kept talking. And talking.”

“Which worked, because you fell for my charm.”

Cocky bastard. Hot, cocky bastard. Yet he wasn’t totally wrong.

“I believe my words to Zara and Noelle were something like ‘he’s a hot jerk.’”

“You also threatened to stab me with a cocktail stirrer.” He smirked. “And yet you came back.”

“True. But with the number of metaphors you threw out on the spot, I should have known you had a dirty mind.”

He lowered his voice, his eyes raking over me and leaving a trail of heat across my body in their wake.

“When it comes to you? The dirtiest.”

I bit my bottom lip. “Yeah? Prove it.”

“Famous last words, James.”