Page 38 of Rush the Edge
Lars chuckles. “I know what’s got the hothead all twisted.”
I bare my teeth at him. He’s getting on my last fucking nerve.
“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will knock your teeth out,” I snap.
Emory sighs. “Same team, brother. Quit it.”
I grimace at him while he sheds his goalie gear. He’s just as testy as I am, only he got himself a pretty little wife, so now he’s all sunshine and rainbows.
Malaki perks up with excitement. He turns toward Lars. “Oh, there’s tea? Do tell.”
“The mascot…”
They converse as if I’m not here, and if I don’t block them out, I may actually do something I’ll regret.
I fucked myself getting Daisy this job.
It’s messing with my head, and it’s putting a wedge between me and the game—something that is simply unacceptable.
Hockey is all I have left.
I’ll be damned if I let anyone take it from me.
Even her.
I pop up from the bench, in need of a shower, but there’s no time for that. The need to get shit straightened out before the next game is more important than the sweat drying on my skin.
“Where is he going?” someone asks.
“Hopefully to fuck the ma?—”
I slam the door because I know the next thing out of their mouths is going to send me into a full rage.
I’ll be foaming at the mouth before it’s all said and done.
Fifteen
DAISY
This itchy costumeis not only smothering but it smells godawful too. Like feet and mildewy snow suits from little kids playing out in the snow for hours upon hours. The combo is exactly what one would assume—vomit inducing.
I hold my breath as I spin around to face the mirror. Cindy scored me my own little dressing room, which doubles as storage for extra equipment. It shares a very thin wall with the officials’ locker room, and after having a listen, I’ve learned that they gossip more than a bunch of college girls at a frat party.
“This stupid freaking thing!” I reach for the zipper and give it another tug.
It’s stuck.Great.
Not only am I covered in sticky sweat, smelling like a musty gym bag, but now I’m trapped in this thing for the rest of my life.
Okay, fine.
That’s dramatic.
But I’m most definitely not walking through the arena, wearing the bottom half of my devil’s costume for people to learn who’s underneath the giant head.
My fingers pull on the zipper again, but it refuses to budge. I sigh angrily as another droplet of sweat rolls down my cheek, falling to the floor beneath me.It’s fine.I’ll just die of a heat stroke in this room and go out a winner.
I laugh to myself so I don’t cry.
