BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance Eddie Cleveland (best mobile ebook reader .TXT) 📖

could use Blaze. Right? So, tomorrow afternoon I’m gonna be sitting down with the board to see if I can get Blaze’s suspension knocked down by a game. Before I go begging for favors, is there anything I need to know?” He looks at the faces of each individual player. None of them answer. “Anyone? Because, so help me God, if I get blindsided with some new scandal, it won’t end well for the guy.”

It’s so silent in here, if I closed my eyes, I’d think I was standing alone. The guys from Hector House exchange some glances, but no one says a word. Not even Player. His jaw is clenched tight. That’s the thing… everyone covers for Blaze. Even me. I don’t deserve this job, I’m a fraud.

“Good.” Coach Wilson snaps me out of my downward spiral. “Blaze, do me a favor? Try not to commit any felonies. I don't want to look like an asshole tomorrow afternoon. Got it?”

A chuckle moves around the room like the wave goes around a rink during a game.

“Got it. The only felonies I commit will be in Grand Theft Auto.” Blaze makes the chuckle get louder.

“What is that?” Coach Wilson squints.

“Nothing, it’s just a video game.” Blaze looks like he wishes he didn’t make the joke when Coach Wilson stares at him like that.

“This is the next generation of men, huh?” Coach shakes his head. “Damn, that reminds me, I’ve still got to help my daughter book her university tour. She’s spent every single day of the last three years telling me how grown up she is, and now she needs my help booking a tour? All you kids are the same. Anyway, go home. Come back here tonight rested, hydrated and ready to fucking fight!”

“Go Warriors,” many voices chant out. There’s a few “Yeahs!” and “Woos!” thrown in for good measure. Once Coach Wilson takes off, most of the guys clear out.

“Enjoy Grand Theft Auto tonight, Blaze. We know how much you like playing games.” Player stops clenching his jaw and keeping his silence.

“Fuck off, Player,” Blaze hits back.

“No, I won’t. We’re busting our asses to get to the finals. Coach is busting his ass to get your suspension lifted. And what are you doing? Playing Grand Theft Auto. I’m sick of your bullshit, man.”

He’s not wrong. Blaze is like a black hole and everyone gets sucked in. His roommates, his team, his coach... me. He pulls you into his chaos.

“You will not be playing video games tomorrow night,” I interrupt before Player and Blaze kill each other.

They look surprised that I interrupted. Maybe they’re surprised I’m still here.

“You’ll be here, supporting your team.” I try to sound professional. It’s a real fake it until you make it situation. Blaze needs an attitude adjustment, and sleeping with him didn’t change that. Turns out I don’t have a magic pussy after all. Damn.

Player is smug, and Blaze is pissed. His eyes narrow. “Anything else, Prissy?”

“Yeah, the game starts at seven. I expect you to be here on time. You will sit behind the team. You will stay for the entire game.” I start making up rules as I go.

“And then are you gonna ground me and take away my video games?” Blaze interrupts. He gets a few laughs too. It’s crickets from Player and Griz though.

I don’t laugh either. I’m sick of his disrespect.

“In a suit!” I blurt out in anger.

“What?” Look who’s not so jokey now.

“With a tie,” I continue. “Not a clip-on.”

Everything seems too quiet. I’m having a real Coach Wilson moment, but I’m not sure it has anything to do with respect.

“No problem,” he finally answers, and it’s like the sound gets turned back on.

Everyone clears out. Even Blaze.

That was a win, right? Why am I not even sure? Why does it feel like I lost?

14

Malicious Compliance Blaze

Everything about this feels wrong. The seats are uncomfortable, like they’re made of nails. Like I shouldn’t be sitting in them at all. There are only two places at the Witch’s Tit that my ass has got any business sitting, and both of them are benches: the ones in the locker room and the one in the box.

I don’t know the last time I was a spectator sitting on the sidelines. Probably at one of Logan’s basketball games. When my brother played for the Warriors, he was the king of the court. Now, here I am, playing hockey for the same school. The fucking court jester.

At least I dressed for the part. The only thing saving my suit from a bunch of staring eyes is my winter jacket. It’s colder than fuck in here, but I’ve gotta take it off. Prissy needs to see for herself that this tie doesn’t clip on.

The lady next to me is pretty hot for over forty, but she looks tired. Waiting for the game to start with her three kids looks like her life’s biggest regret. Her mini-me with the exact same look of despair is sitting next to her. Identical twin boys are further down the line.

The boys are smacking at each other with their mitts in a typical sibling battle, the same kind Logan and I had at that age. It always starts out harmless, until someone gets hit a bit too hard. Then all bets are off, and it becomes a real fight.

“Brody, don’t hit your brother,” the lady hisses.

“Brandon started it,” he whines.

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“If you two don’t stop right now, I’m going to have a very loud, concern-tinged conversation about how you guys shouldn’t be ashamed of bed wetting.” The sister shuts them up with that one, although they look like they might unite to plan her murder after the game.

“Hey.” I turn toward the Mom.

“I’m sorry about them.” She already sounds defeated as she turns toward me. “Whoa.” Her eyes go wide, and she stares at my suit. “I’m gonna need an eyeball transplant.”

“Mooom, don’t. He’s hot.” The daughter slides her hands up the