What a bullshit call.

Eleven minutes into the second period against the Coastal U Sharks, I skated off the ice and stepped into the penalty box, slamming it shut. 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 let the refs have an earful saying 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 Gardiner.

Seconds later, my shoulder crashed into his, 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 both 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 first, initial hit.

But I landed more.

Despite that, by the time the refs intervened, I was left a nasty gash on my left eyebrow. The bleeding didn't last long, but I could feel it swelling with each second. Cuts in the eye area were always the worst because the skin was so thin.

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.

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 found myself between her legs, which was fully 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 in general. I got 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 walking around with a tiny pebble in my shoe. Or in my skate, rather. Somehow, it made all of the pressure I was constantly under seem a lot less tolerable.

I got dressed silently, mind swirling with a category five hurricane of thoughts and worries. Bailey, school, Miller, playing Callingwood soon, Bailey again, Los Angeles. Bailey and Los Angeles—fuck. Hadn't even begun to think about that.

"What's going on, Carter? You seem to have a way shorter fuse than usual." Dallas slipped into his charcoal suit pants and glanced up at me, glacial blue eyes scanning my face. "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 just 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 ever since Bailey told me. The fact 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 demolish him. Literally.

He reached over, affectionately thumping 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 fantasized about that over the past few days 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 just 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. "Besides, 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 finding a text from Derek.

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 had been hoping to delay that talk but now I'd probably have to come clean before she put the pieces together herself.

At least, eventually. Maybe I could delay a little longer. I would 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'Malley'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.

Sometimes I wished I could go back and erase everyone else I'd slept with before. It would simplify my life immensely.

His brow furrowed. "Oh yeah. Your girlfriend is fucking hot."

"I know." I picked up my pint glass, taking 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 eyes 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 stilled 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 and slid my plate down a few seats and eased into an empty chair beside Ty.

"What the fuck, Ty? Penner and Kristen was the best fourth couple 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, lots of the guys didn't go, let alone want to bring a date—which made filling out 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, biting into it.

"Why? You don't have feelings for her. You've moved on, she's moved on." He waved me off like he was disinterested in my petty drama.

It was easy to pretend you were above it all when you didn't give a shit about anything. I knew, because I used to be the same way.

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."

Now I wasn't sure if I should warn Bailey about Kristen or just 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 is.

"Sorry." He looked like he meant it. "When I found out Kristen was with Penner, I thought she'd laid off you. I honestly didn't think it would be a problem. I just wanted to unload the tickets so we weren't on the hook for that $1,250. Do you want me to see if I can make them 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 whether we should go. 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.

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: Just wrapping up dinner with the team. Be there in half an hour.

Biting back a smile, I shook my head and locked my phone, flipping it face down. I still had to finish a few tasks before I could let my mind start to 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 up against my body...

Oh, god. Get it together, Bailey.

"Here." I clicked send and my laptop chimed, letting me know the email left my outbox. "I just 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 glance up from the newspaper layout she was immersed in 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, gulping 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.

Zara stretched out, propping her feet up on a spare chair beside me. "Are you done that scholarship application?"

I wish. I'd been working on it for the better part of a month and I still wasn't finished. Perfectionism was only partially to blame. It was an enormous amount of work.

"Not yet," I said. "They want my entire life story. I'm surprised they didn't ask for a DNA sample too."

Zara gathered up her long curtain of auburn hair, twisting it and securing it with two yellow pencils. On her, it looked messy chic. Whenever I attempted it, I looked like the nutty professor.

"Well, I'm rooting for you. I think you have a good shot."

I gave her a half-smile. "I hope so."

It was hard to gauge what my chances were, really, when the entire process was so complicated. I met the minimum GPA requirement, but that was just one of a zillion factors. The application package included a lengthy form, personal essay, academic and personal references, resume and biography, plus full transcript submission.

And that was just the initial round, where they narrowed it down to five finalists. If I made it to the next round, then I'd be interviewed by an entire panel of journalism faculty members, several of whom had received prestigious awards at various points in their careers.

Intimidating would be putting that mildly.

To be fair, the amount of work was warranted given the scholarship amount. It was hefty, the kind of scholarship where you wouldn't have to worry about money next year at all—might even have some breathing room financially, as hard as that was to imagine.

I desperately wanted it. Desperately needed it. Hoped I would be the lucky one of fifty applicants who landed it. But I knew it was a long shot, so I was trying to temper my expectations.

"Did you see that list of spring internships?" Zara asked. "They're all remote. There's like ten of them. I thought I saw something sports related on the list."

My ears perked up. "No, where was this posted?"

"On the career portal." She nodded at my laptop. "Just went up this morning. You should check."

I reopened my browser, navigating to the Callingwood career website and logging in with my credentials. Scrolling, I scanned the list. There was one for some fashion website I'd never heard of, a food website I was familiar with, a local news station, a national fitness brand...and Penalty Box Online.

You know, only the foremost source for hockey news online.

Oh my god.

Lightning fast, I double-clicked the listing.

Penalty Box Online

Hockey Content Writer - Internship

- commitment: approximately 5-10 hours a week

- duties: creating content, blog posts, and copywriting, as well as researching industry topics

- requirements: in-depth understanding of game, player, team, and league issues; passion for hockey; ability to consistently deliver high-quality work

- potential to transition into a permanent paid position with good performance

Unblinking, I stared at the screen. This was it. Exactly what I needed. The perfect resume boost.

I checked the time, figuring I could submit an 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, submitting 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 mouth 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 incredibly cramped, not to mention incredibly public.

I didn't even care.

We were parked off to the back corner, at least.

Mouth still latched to mine, his palms slid down my sides, gripping my ass and crushing my body against his. The pull between my legs intensified, pleasure curling through my core. My fingers dug into his shoulders, gripping into the firm muscle like I was holding on for balance. Maybe I was, because I felt incredibly lightheaded, almost dizzy with desire.

I only snapped back to reality when his hands slid under the hem of my shirt, starting to creep 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, gently biting 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. Gently, I cupped his chin and turned his head to find a fresh bruise blooming on the right side of his jaw. My fingers danced along his skin, afraid to push too hard and inflict more pain.

I winced. "Do those hurt?"

"A little." He gave me a lopsided grin. "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 on the whole, he didn't actually 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. Instigating and aggravating, basically. Occasionally, he engaged in the odd shoving match or a scrum, generally falling short of an altercation.