Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Chapter Two
LUKE
Today, I’m itching to hit someone but haven’t gotten the chance. Coach Ken has warned everyone about baiting me. I don’t need bait. I’m already ready for a fight. Why else would I be playing hockey? You get a free pass to knock the shit out of people. It’s my therapy.
I had my chance yesterday, and I’m still sore. Caleb and I had gone at it. He took a cheap shot at me during practice and opened the window for me to retaliate. If there is ever an opening to hit that asshat, I’m taking it. I can’t stand him for the most part, and the feeling is likely mutual.
He’s a pretty, rich fuckboy. I’m simply a rich asshole. Us being any kind of friends is purely out of being stuck together. The only time we truly get along is when we are on the ice playing against our rivals.
At Kingmakers Prep, they keep us hockey players close. We all sleep in the same wing of the boarding school and share a lot of the same classes. We’re not completely isolated out here. We’re in a small town but not too far from the city.
The locals put up with us. I’m sure it’s because of the money the school brings to the community. The local high school has a decent hockey team that we play twice a year. That shit gets messy. Lots of dick swinging and a boatload of penalties usually ensue during those games.
The aggression isn’t even fully about hockey; nah, it’s about Kingmakers Prep boys fucking the local girls, and them fucking some of the Kingmakers girls. It’s fucking stupid, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the hell out of those games. There’s tons of physical contact and shit-talking to go along with it.
“What the hell was that!” Coach starts yelling at Eli on the other end of the ice.
He’s my backup for when I get tossed into the penalty box. Eli isn’t that great, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not here to win. That’s a byproduct.
Caleb skates over to me. He’s the captain of the team. It’s a poor choice. Caleb is a lot like me when it comes to hockey. We’re only here for ourselves, and I might also have a court order, or one they made up to try and scare me and make sure I keep my ass on the ice.
“You see the list?” he asks, taking off his helmet.
“No.”
“Because your brother already showed it to you?” My older brother is the dean here at Kingmakers Prep. This is his second full year as the acting dean. He filled in for the last one during the middle of my sophomore year, thinking it would be beneficial for him and me.
He only wanted us to be closer because our old man kicked the can. I wasn’t even close to him when he died. My life didn’t change that much. I live at the boarding school, and during the summer, I can pick one of our family homes to crash at. There are a handful to choose from.
The truth is, I was more alone when my father was alive. Now my brother is always with the questions and showing up at some of my games. He’ll want to have dinner and hang out. Our father’s death changed him. He wants to be a family now. That’s too little, too late.
Bennett and I didn’t grow up in the same home. I didn’t have our grandparents watching over me. I was left all alone with that asshole, better known as my father, and each year, he got worse. Now that I’m older, I don’t miss my old man for even a second.
“What list?” Grant asks. He’s new this year. Coach recruited him. He was a good pickup that doesn’t annoy the shit out of me. Except for his chipper disposition. What the fuck is there to be so happy about all the time?
We all got stashed away here because our parents didn’t want to deal with us. They label it as if they’re giving us a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I jumped at it. Got me the fuck away from my father.
“Fresh meat.” Caleb smirks. He’ll burn through them soon enough.
“What?” Grant asks again. I don’t answer.
“Girls, the new girls.” Caleb rubs his hands together as though they are a tasty meal waiting for him to feast on. The last thing I want to be doing is scoping out girls.
Too much work. And for what? Just to get your dick wet? Sounds like a headache to me. I mean, we kind of live with these people. There would be no escaping them, and there are clingers and puck bunnies everywhere. Worse, I don’t know which of my teammates has already fucked them.
“You’re saying the girls are out there with a list calling me fresh meat,” Grant says with a chuckle. He’s always so laid-back and calm. Even on the ice, he can remain that way while slamming someone’s head into the boards over and over, all while smiling, which pisses the opposing players off more. That motherfucker is hard to provoke. I’d enjoy watching him lose his cool one time. As long as it isn’t on me because I’m sure he’s got some pent-up shit inside of him. It would be a hell of a fight, fun.