The whole team is already on the bus when I arrive. Coach is pissed I’m late because it messes with the scheduled stops on our way to Tampa. The team greets me with hollers and snide comments. I need to come up with a story for last night—I’m usually better prepared than this.

I take the empty seat beside Darren. His brow furrows as he sniffs. “You smell like stale sex.” Darren has been my wingman on and off the ice for the past several years. He’s fully aware last night was an anomaly.

I shrug, passing it off like it’s nothing. As much as I needed a shower, in a sick way, I’m glad I didn’t have time. All I smell is Violet.

Kirk pops up from the seat behind me. “Who’d you bang last night?”

“Some chick I met in the elevator.” My stomach turns. No matter how this plays out, I look like an asshole, and right now I deserve the title.

“Oh, yeah? Only one? No Hat Trick?”

Darren rolls his eyes, and I mumble a noncommittal response.

At thirty-five, Kirk is one of the older players on the team, and this is likely his last season. He hasn’t come to terms with it. He’s been banging every chick he can lately, despite the wedding band he sports. It’s disgusting. In my rookie days, I used to think he was cool. Now he’s become pathetic.

“Weren’t you screwing around with Butterson’s sister at the bar?”

“She’s his stepsister. We were just talking.” I want to punch him in the face for being such a dick.

Bringing Violet back to my room was bad form. I’ll be lucky if this doesn’t blow up in my face.

There’s no justification for what I did. I don’t have a good excuse. This isn’t even close to normal for me. The most I do is flirt, especially with a teammate’s sister. Until last night. I’d been serious about not having expectations. I might have had a chance at resisting her if she hadn’t made the first move, or worn something other than those damn pj’s.

Unfortunately, Butterson overhears my exchange with Kirk. He jumps up from his seat and stalks down the aisle. “Fuck you, dude. You were all over Violet. Now you hold us up ’cause you’re bunny fucking?”

No way in hell am I admitting I was with her last night. “She kissed me, not the other way around.” My verbal defense is weak.

“Bullshit. You followed her outside. She thinks hockey players are dirtbags. Next time she comes to a game, you better keep your hands and your mouth to yourself. She’s a good girl; she’s doesn’t screw around.”

“If you say so.” If she’s witnessed Butterson’s antics I can understand why she thinks we’re all dirtbags, although I’d argue last night might have changed her opinion.

Butterson grabs me by the shirt and hauls me out of my seat. “I’m not kidding around, Captain Asshole. Violet’s not that kind of girl. Lose her number.”

As the captain, I can’t very well have the newest player on the team pushing me around, even if backing down is smarter. “You don’t want to start a fight with me, Butterson. Especially over something you know nothing about.”

His jaw tics. It’s obvious he wants to punch me. His fist slowly unclenches from my shirt. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Coach stomps down the aisle, yelling for us to cool it. He sends Butterson to his seat and I follow him to the front so he can serve me a lecture. I deserve it, so I keep my mouth shut and take it.

“You’re the captain, not some rookie dickhead. How do you think it impacts the team if you go fucking around with your teammates’ damn sisters?

“I didn’t—”

“Save it, Waters.” Coach holds out his phone. A picture of me with my tongue in Violet’s mouth takes up the screen.

“Fuck.” I palm my face and lower my voice. “Has Butterson seen these?”

“I haven’t shown him, but it’s only a matter of time before he does. What if one of these dipshits did this with your sister?”

Coach makes a good point. If anyone touched Sunny, I’d rip his dick off and shove it down his throat with a ball-sac chaser. It’s something I should’ve considered prior to the wick dip with Violet. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

“I don’t want apologies. I want you to keep your head in the game.” He taps his temple. “We’re halfway through the season, and we’re only behind two teams. If we keep going like we are, we’ll make the playoffs again this year. This is an important series, Waters. Don’t fuck it up with your dick.”

“It won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Butterson and clear the air.”

“You better. He’s a solid player. I need him on point for the next game, not fixed on revenge because you’re getting fresh with his sister.”

“Stepsister.”

Coach gives me a disapproving look. “Like it matters.”

“I got it, Coach. I’ll get a handle on my handle.”

He waves me off, shaking his head. I ignore Butterson's glare as I take my seat a few rows in front of him. Any conversation will have to take place without witnesses present, and I need time to figure out what to say.

The lecture from Coach and Butterson’s outburst put last night into perspective. Clarity can be a bitch. I already had the impression Violet wasn’t really a one-night stand kind of girl. Not because she said as much—it’s what they all say before they get on their knees or their back—but because she truly didn’t seem the type. Even though she practically jumped me both times.