I Can’t Tell If We’re Fighting…or Flirting?

Being traded to the Seattle Vipers has left me with mixed feelings. On one hand, they’re my dream team—the one I’ve loved since childhood. On the other hand, he’s here. Ant Decker. Infamous NHL bad boy. Right wing to my left. A man who’s made it his mission to outdo me at every turn.

Well, the joke’s on him because I’m faster, and my stats are better. Not that I’m competing with him, of course. I wouldn’t stoop to his level.

He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met—a dark, chaotic presence who won’t stop distracting me. When we’re not clashing on the ice, he’s pushing my buttons off it, calling me Princess. Pretty Boy. Babygirl.

I hate it. Obviously, I do. It makes me so angry I can hardly see straight.

So why does my body react like it loves every second of it?

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