Playing Dirty

Grace’s POV“Go back to the backwater you came from,” the guy barked, loud enough to echo.My eyes found the voice immediately.It was Noah Hudson.Even from where I stood, he was impossible to miss.He was brown-skinned. Muscular. Built like he could go straight through concrete if he had to. His skin gleamed with sweat under the lights, and both arms were covered in detailed black and gray tattoos that ran from shoulder to wrist. More ink crept from under his jersey across his chest and neck. His dreads were tied back in a loose band, a few strands falling over his forehead as he moved. His brown eyes were sharp and unreadable, but they had a darkness behind them.“Try to score on me again,” he growled. “I dare you.”The puck flew across the ice.He’d already knocked one player flat, and now he was gunning for more. Noah Hudson didn’t play to impress. He played to dominate. Everyone in the league knew it. He was the most ruthless defenseman the Vipers had ever had, known more for hi

I crossed the car quickly, scanning the overhead compartments until I spotted the red emergency sticker. I snapped it open and pulled out a fat stack of barf bags, crinkly and pale blue. Exactly what I needed. “Here!” I said, tossing a few to the nearest players. “Hold it right under your mouth. Breathe through your nose. Do not lean back.” One of the rookies was trembling so badly he couldn't open the seal. I crouched next to him, peeled the top open for him, and placed it in his hands. “If it’s coming, don’t fight it. Just aim and breathe.” Another wave of gagging came from the left side of the car. Someone had missed the bag. The smell was everywhere now—pungent, thick, heavy with seafood and bile. I stood up fast and shouted over the chaos. “Can someone get Bryson some water?” “I got it,” Noah said behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. He was moving with calm, controlled energy, a tray of water bottles tucked under one arm. He crouched beside Bryson and handed one over, hi

The blast of the whistle cracked through the air like a gunshot. I sprinted straight into the trees. Paintballs hissed and popped in the distance like firecrackers. The boys fanned out across the field, a blur of dark vests and athletic instinct.I veered left. The terrain dipped into uneven soil, then rose again into a sharp incline. I ducked low and pushed forward, weaving around an oversized obstacle painted like a rusty tank. My breath came fast.There—off to the right—a flash of long hair and pink. One of Molly’s friends. I doubled back, tracking her through the thicket, then cut left toward a narrow tunnel built into the side of the course. It was low, barely four feet tall, made of corrugated metal and filled with shadow. I slipped inside, crouching low, my heart pounding.And nearly collided with a body.Coach Dennis.He was crouched just like me, eyes alert, his paintball gun gripped loosely in one hand. I pressed my back to the wall beside him, struggling to get my breath un

“Wait, what?” The words flew out before I could catch them. My eyes snapped between the three of them. Noah stood there with a split lip and that smug grin that always made my stomach twist. Wesley was nursing his nose but still managed to look like trouble with a streak of ash on his cheek. Coach Dennis, somehow calm through it all, held himself like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.Noah stepped forward, eyes locked on the coach. “Coach, you’re into Doc too?”Coach didn’t flinch. “Who wouldn’t be?”I should have been shocked. I should have been mortified. But all I felt was the heat slowly creeping up the back of my neck as the realization settled. This wasn’t a joke. They weren’t just teasing each other. They were serious.Noah and Wesley both squared their shoulders like they were ready to lace up and take this to overtime. I could feel the air shifting again, thicker than it had been all night. They looked at me like I was the goal and the final buzzer was seconds away.C

The cabin door slammed shut behind us, and something in the air changed. Noah was already on me before I could take another breath. His hands slipped under my shirt, steady and sure, dragging it up and away in one smooth motion. The cold air hit my skin for a second, but the heat of his mouth on my collarbone burned it right out.His fingers found the clasp of my bra, unhooking it fast, then sliding the straps down my arms. Rough and reverent. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He already knew.I gasped when he stepped back, his eyes dropping to my chest like he was memorizing the shape of me.Then Dennis was in front of me.He caught my waist and hoisted me up like I weighed nothing. I hit the mattress with a bounce, the breath knocked out of me, my pulse racing.Wesley’s voice landed hard and low. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “You look so fucking sexy, Grace.”I could feel their eyes dragging across my body, all heat and hunger. It made my thighs squeeze together before I could stop the