In the Game (Lakes Hockey, #3)

by Sloane St. James

“Yeah, you taste exactly—” His tongue flattens against me and he licks again. “Like mine.”

This close connection you feel, he doesn’t feel it. Bury that shit and fuck him like a bunny. Play your part and then get the hell out of here.

For a second, I wonder if he’s feeling the same way I am, but that would be impossible. He’s Barrett Conway, and I’m the last condom in his drawer.

Barrett Conway changed me. He killed this puck bunny, ripped her heart out, and ate it. I can’t do this anymore.

But it’s better to leave with a happy memory than sad goodbye. And I’m no one’s bunny.

That kid’s mine. There’s no way he’s not. He’s got my same face shape, the same white-blonde hair I had when I was younger, same exact dimple. I’m going to be sick. “Jesus Christ, Raleigh. What the fuck were you thinking not telling me?” I mutter. “You really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“You called me a liar, you insulted me, called me a whore, and threatened me with a restraining order. And, just so you know, I never wanted money. All I wanted was for you to know he existed. This is your loss, not mine. You missed out—” “A restraining order?!” Why the hell would I do that? Any Lakes player could back me up on this. They know I never got over her. She’s known as Runaway Raleigh by the team, they constantly give me shit about her being my one who got away.

“I’m going to call you every day. I want you to answer. If you block my number, I will come back here and find you.” She looks away from me with a trembling lip, and I tilt her chin up to look at me. “Never run from a bear.” Her lips part. “I never ran. You did.”

Banksy leans in and whispers, “If you guys get a divorce, will we still be a family? Do I get two birthday parties?”

“The giant is here! And holy fart feathers—he has presents! I told you it was a party!”

Arthur loves tonight’s meal, but I’m guessing Barrett Conway isn’t accustomed to eating ‘fish finger dogs’ which are essentially frozen fish sticks on squished hot dog buns with slaw and aioli—a.k.a. garlic and mayonnaise. Whatever, this is our life now. He wants a piece of us? Have at it. What you see is what you get. Our chicken is dinosaur shaped, sandwiches come with the crust cut off, and every pancake has mouse ears. It’s glamorous.

“You still taste like mine.” Her back hardens and eyes glisten. “Don’t say—” “You’ve always been mine, Raleigh.”

No matter what happens, you and Arthur will always be the most important people in my life.”

Sex is one thing, but it’s a special kind of pussy throb when he takes care of my errands.

“I love waking up next to you, baby… even when we’re covered in piss.”