In Sequence | H.S.

21.

Harry.

"My bad." Expressionless, I grab the plastic cup and chug the beer. The alcohol only burns to a slight degree, no match for the whiskey floating around my system. I toss the cup on the floor next to the table and pat Carlson on the back. "Kick his ass, Rookie."

Tunnel vision has me focused solely on Madelyn and the way her luscious lips curl at the corners every time Preston makes her laugh. The leaves that decorate her costume ruffle with every giggle, and her exposed cleavage bounces slightly. Preston switches back and forth from holding eye contact with her and talking straight to her tits, objectifying her in a way that makes me want to grab Carlson's bat and slam it into his skull.

The rest of my whiskey slides down my throat with ease as I discard my cup, not to give me liquid courage, but to make being in Preston's presence slightly more tolerable. The closer I get to him, I realize who he's fucking dressed up as.

Hugh Hefner, the founder of Playboy.

With nothing but a red velvet robe making up the majority of his costume, he has two bunnies clinging onto him. Literal puck bunnies turned Playboy Bunnies. A girl holds onto either one of his arms, dressed up in lingerie and bunny ears to mimic the Playboy Bunnies as he so obviously ignores them to flirt with Maddy - and one of his prized sluts of the night is Ava.

Of fucking course.

All of the pieces are coming together now. It's no fucking surprise that he'd bring one of the NHL's most notorious coke dealers to a Bruins party to fucking sabotage the team, especially after we kicked his team's ass a few weeks ago.

"Sounds like we'll be seeing the Bruins back on the ice real fucking soon." Preston gloats, ramming his fist into Miles' shoulder like they're just such good fucking buddies. "The only game we've lost this season was to you fuckers."

"You played a good game, Elliot." Miles sucks his dick like everyone else standing in this fucking circle. "Makes me wonder why you ever left the Bruins to begin with."

"Change is good for me, bud. Keeps me competitive." Preston chuckles, dipping his gaze down to Madelyn. "Besides, I couldn't fuck around and flirt with Madelyn if she was my PT. Just wouldn't be right." He shooed Ava off of his arm, who magnetized across the way to Ian in a heartbeat. Preston's index finger hooked under Maddy's chin and his thumb rolled across her lower lip. "Isn't that right, M?"

"I'd hardly call sending someone flowers every day flirting." A polite laugh was enough to shake his hand away from her face, and as prideful as that made me feel, my heart plummeted to my feet when I heard he was sending her flowers so fucking frequently.

"Are you saying I need to step up my game?" With a nudge, he dismissed his other bunny so his arms could cross over his chest, brows shimmying at my girl.

"Fuck, you're just realizing that now, mate?" I interject, inserting myself between Madelyn and Ella. "Thought your stats would've convinced you otherwise about two seasons ago. Last I heard, you're about to get knocked down a ranking depending on how this week's game goes." The idea of not starting shit flashes into my head for a brief minute, but putting him in his place seems a hell of a lot more fun.

Maddy's eyes lose interest in Preston's hard gaze and glance my way with slight distaste. The ache in my chest intensifies when I realize she isn't fucking happy to see me.

"Insult my game all you want, Styles. I'm not the one starting fights to keep my team's win streak." His manipulation on what actually caused the fight as all eyes flocking to us, the conversations around us fading out.

"This isn't the time and place." Ella holds up a hand to halt the brewing argument. "If you want to fight, go outside. There's too many fire hazards in here and I will not be scrubbing blood out of any furniture tonight."