Her mischievousness and determination would have been a potent combo.
No wonder Priest was drawn to her.
I would have loved to play with her.
A shrill whistle sliced through the air and we all snapped around to where she sat.
“Sorry, just making sure it works.” She shrugged, but grinned with that sly smile of hers, the same one she got when she was in the ER and thought she’d managed to sneak away from her mother.
Older than me, but in a lot of ways so much younger and a prankster at heart, she and Priest were so different yet so much alike—both hesitating to break free.
She from her mother, him from the past.
I wonder if he realized it.
But her time was coming. More precocious, and in love, she’d have to break free soon.
And who knows, maybe a taste of the bank would give her the final push.
“Hustle up and pick your first five. Best out of ten jams. And don’t be afraid of Dom. He may be big, but just the mere mention of flip-flops turns him into a total pussy cat.”
“You’re a real asshole, Priest,” Dom said, shooting him a dark look.
“Never tried to sell myself as anything else. Now get your helmet on or I’m going to have my girlfriend kick your ass.”
“Not man enough to do it yourself,” Dom tossed back.
“Sure, but why when she’s so much sexier doing it?”
His girlfriend, huh. Maybe all he needed was a few rules. Like about wandering off and shit.
If only it were that easy to keep him.
We skated off the track, each team heading for their benches, until Priest reached out and took my elbow, spinning me around to face him. “Hey, you better kick our asses out there today.”
“Count on it,” I said, smiling up at him.
He traced his fingertips along my eyebrow, over my temple, and down my cheek before sliding those long fingers around the back of my neck.
I swayed on my skates, blood rushing straight to my head. Seeing the wristguards on him as he did it, knowing we’d go head-to-head on the track—yes, fucking please.
He gave me all sorts of lusty thoughts like this.
Like laying him out like a damn buffet and biting into him.
Thanks, Rory, for the total food horn dog influence.
“Watch out for the hand,” he murmured as he hovered over my lips.
“Yes, Coach,” I said on a rush of breath.
“Hey! Stop trying to sex up our best jammer,” Rory said with a snap of her fingers and a slap of her thigh. “Mayhem. Come.”
Marty threw her head back and laughed. “I think she just did.”
Eve skated up to Marty and knocked into her shoulder while making a show of studying me. “Mmmm, not yet, but she’s close. I’ve seen that face.”
“Oh. My. God. Guys…stop!”
Priest leaned in, that fiery gaze of his on my mouth, but I pushed at his chest and watched him roll back on his skates. “No kissing.”
“That rule is retired. Permanently,” he said, coming to a stop. “Get your ass over here, Mayhem.”
“Fine,” I said as I pushed off and rolled right to him. “But keep it PG. You have a way of short-circuiting my systems and I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.”
He slanted that registered weapon of a mouth—the first go-to in his arsenal—and settled over mine, slow, soft, with a quick shot of pressure before he lifted his lips—just a glimpse at sexual energy rippling inside him.
“Now go,” I murmured giving him one last shove.
CAIN
I had to force myself to concentrate because the look in Mayhem’s eyes right now—fierce, calculating, so fucking in tune with the players on the track—nailed me in every vulnerable spot I didn’t even know I had.
She’d been nailing me since the moment I rolled into town.
At the bout.
At The Shipwreck.
Definitely at Rockabilly’s.
Obliterating me when she climbed on that bar at Banked Track.
And she did it without even trying.
Lana blew the whistle with the lungs of a damn opera singer, setting us in motion. After the second whistle, Mayhem and Jackson pushed off the jam line, closing in on us.
Spotting left, then right, then back to the left again, I kept my eye on her, closing gaps, opening others, hoping to get my man Jackson through while shutting down every one of Mayhem’s attempts. Remy, Linc, and Dom kept pace with me, shifting as I did while staying on Mayhem’s teammates.
The pack made it halfway through the corner when Mayhem upped the pressure. Her height gave her an edge to get low and stay there. When there wasn’t a gap to be had, she was impressively adept at creating one.
Wedging herself sideways in between Remy and Linc, she gave them only illegal zones to hit, her back and front, making it impossible for them to do anything but try to squeeze her back out.
Pitching forward, she shimmied and broke through, her skate catching on Remy’s briefly while they tried to put the final squeeze on her. On takeoff, Remy and Linc collided with one another, leaving them tangled in each other’s skates before crashing to the floor.
“Get up! Get up! Get up!” I yelled as they tried to scramble to their feet.
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Linc shot back.
“Making out with my track. Jesus, Linc, you’re going have to get on your feet a hell of a lot faster than that.”
Jackson broke through the pack then, but even with the longer legs, she’d gained precious seconds and he’d never catch her.
“Get ready, she’s closing in,” I warned them as she made her way around, her eyes already searching for a way through us again.
We tightened up enough to make ourselves a wall on the track while stopping her blockers from opening up pockets for
