Chapter 11 SHE'S MINE.
LUCIEN'S POINT OF VIEW.
The rink was empty except after a rigorous practice with the team. Except for the hum of the cooling system and the faint echo of my skates against the boards, practice ended twenty minutes ago.
The second Coach blew the whistle, signalling the end of a hard afternoon in the freezing rink, most of the guys bolted for showers without wasting a second, and some escaped for their weekend plans. I stayed behind, working the puck until my shoulders burned and my hands ached. Pain focuses me. Keeps the world from getting too loud.
The words my father droned in my mind about perfection echoed in my mind as I dropped by a few points from last practice. Staying back to earn my strike back would be punishment enough for me.
I peeled off my gloves, flexed my fingers as I skated toward the bench. The cold air bit my face with a force and a bite sharper than the edge of my blades.
The first sign of trouble I encountered was the click of heels against the marble floors. It wasn't the flat slap of sneakers that strolled casually, and without any purpose to be detected.
It was the sound of heels worn by someone I knew too well.
High enough to be impractical, confident enough to be deliberate.
I didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Roxanne.
With sugar on the outside, but venom underneath, she stopped in front of me, dressed in her cheer uniform. Her skirt rode up too high, revealing her legs to anyone who would bother to look.
“Well, well,” she purrs, as she steps onto the edge of the rink like that belonged to her. At one point, she thought it did; the fact that I'd slept with her more than once fuelled that delusion.
But she didn't know she was no more than a good deep throat. She swings her legs side to side in an attempt to flash me, her little maroon skirt barely covering anything. “Still practicing this late? You always were a perfectionist.”
She smirks, her eyes on mine as she takes a seat beside me. She presses her body to mine. And swings her thigh over mine casually. The action causes her skirt to ride up, and her bare pussy flashes at me.
With a sigh, I push her thigh away from mine, forcing her legs back to the floor.
I unstrap my helmet and set it down slowly, deliberately.
It would tick her off, especially because Daddy never had her wait for anything from the moment she was born. But I was different.
Let her wait. She would take it to mean I was thinking about her exposed thighs.
“Roxanne.” I draw her name out like a bitter taste I’m not sure I want to swallow. “Lost your boyfriend? Or did he finally choke on all that plastic?”
Her smile doesn’t even flicker, and I give credit where it’s due — she’s damn good at this. “Matt’s… busy. I thought I’d check on you.” She says, her tone all sugary as she slides her long nails up my left arm. Her legs are crossed now, forcing the skirt to ride up even higher up to her hips.
But all I could think about was whether the cold didn't affect her.
I arch a brow. “Check on me. That's what they’re calling it now?”
She tilts her head, scotting closer to me, even though there was barely any space between us. “I just thought… We used to have fun, you know. And from the way you’ve been walking around lately, it doesn’t look like you’re having much of it anymore.”
I laugh in a low, humorless way. She has no idea. I
’Ve been having more fun than she could imagine — just not with her. It's with the nerdy scholarship student I used to loathe for the dumbest reason.
“Fun?” I rest my stick against the glass and skate toward her. “Is that what you called it when you were begging to know if I’d tell your daddy you weren’t the perfect little angel?”
Her lips part, a quick inhale. A tiny crack in the perfect mask. I don’t even have to push hard for her mask to fall.
“You’ve changed,” she says finally, her voice going low and breathy; a sign of anger rising. Suddenly, she smiles again, trying to fit her mask back in place, or maybe you’re just… frustrated. That girl—”
I step off the ice in one fluid motion, landing in front of her. Close enough for her to smell the cold sweat and leather off me. Close enough that she has to tilt her chin up and stare at me with a mix of shock and fear.
“Careful,” I warn softly, almost gently. “You don’t get to say her name.”
Her eyes flicker. “So it’s true then. You and—”
“Stop.” My voice is a blade. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t. And here’s the thing, Rox — I don’t do reruns. You had your shot. You blew it. If I remember right.”
Her jaw tightens at that. The hit lands, right where I want it.
“You’re going to throw away what we had for some charity case?” She says, feigning hurt as she tries to force his tears.
But this game has a greater master: me.
I grinned, sharp and humorless. “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m upgrading.”
Her eyes flash, but she forces a smile at me as she slips on another mask of confidence. “You’ll come back to me. You always do.”
I step in closer, so close her back hits the boards as she leans back at an awkward angle. My hands hit the wall beside her head, but I make sure not to touch her, but rather caging her in.
“No,” I murmur, my tone dripping with dark amusement. “See, that’s the problem with you. You think you’re the center of everyone’s story. But you’re not the main event here, Roxanne. You’re just the warm-up act. And the show’s moved on. I told you, I don't do reruns, especially not with a show everyone has seen one too many times. Do I have to remind you of how much you begged to have Theo fuck you? I didn't even have to do much; you fell straight into his hands without difficulty. And guess what?”
Her cheeks flush, whether from anger or humiliation, I don’t care.
"He said you were his worst screw."
I step back, grab my gear, and sling it over my shoulder. “Go back to Matt. Tell him I said hi. Or don’t. He’ll know why you were here.”
As I walk toward the locker room, her voice snaps after me. “She won’t last, Lucien! Girls like her never do! Especially when she finds out about who you are behind that mask you have on, and she'll leave you the second it falls!!!!”
I don’t turn around. I just let the smirk curve my mouth, knowing my silence would drive her further insane.
She’ll last.
Because she’s mine.