Grumpy Puck

2. Michael

Chapter 2

Michael

“ W hat are you talking about?” The mascot girl protectively clutches the rat to her chest—like I’d ever hurt a woman or a small animal.

A flare of pain in my jaw makes me realize I’ve clenched my teeth too hard… again. I can’t help but glare at her. “Are you playing stupid now?”

Everyone knows I hate being called a bear. It’s something I’ve had to deal with since childhood, thanks to the deadbeat parents I’ve never met. Before abandoning me, they gave me two dubious gifts: the last name “Medvedev” and first name “Mikhail,” or “Misha” for short. Medvedev straight-up translates to “of bear” from Russian, and Misha is also associated with fucking bears—thanks to another fucking mascot, that of the Moscow Olympic Games. Oh, and when I moved to the US, things only got worse because Russians in general are associated with bears. Not to mention, I’m on this fucking team, which?—

“Did you just call me stupid?” The girl’s pretty green eyes narrow into tiny slits.

“I didn’t, but I could,” I tell her. “After all, it’s stupid to poke the bear.”

Fucking fuck. I just called myself a bear, didn’t I?

“Yeah, he hates it when anyone calls him a bear,” Jack explains warily, and the only reason I don’t knock him the fuck out is because I don’t want to scare the girl… any more than I already have, that is.

“I wouldn’t even mention bears in his proximity,” Jack continues. “We don’t even offer him beer, in case?—”

“Wait.” She blinks at each of us with long and distractingly feminine eyelashes. “Your team is called the Florida Bears .”

The only reason I don’t bare my teeth at her—or at anyone—is that doing so will only bring about further comparisons to fucking bears. “The team was called the Orlando Blooms when I got drafted.” And now I’m fucking stuck with them.

“Wow. That was a terrible name.” She examines the clown-bear head of the mascot that I hate so fucking much. “That at least explains why this one is called Mr. Bloom.”

“Anything is better than the current name,” I grit out. Even Mother Puckers would be an improvement. Or Ass Puckers. Or Bloomin’ Onions.

Everyone shakes their heads, seemingly even the rat.

“We’re not even in Orlando,” the mascot chick says.

“We could just be the Florida Blooms then,” I counter.

“There’s also that actor,” she says.

I clench and unclench my fists. “Fuck him.”

“I don’t think he’d want to fuck me,” she says wistfully.

The surge of jealousy streaking through my veins is as surprising as it is unwelcome. I have no idea what’s come over me. Side bar: the actor would have to be a eunuch to not want to fuck this girl. True, her body is hidden by the hideous suit, but she’s tall and has a strikingly pretty face. With her pink hair, rosy cheeks, and delicate neck, she reminds me of a flamingo. And flamingoes are one of the few things I like about this fucking state. Maybe the only things.

She’s so pretty, in fact, that I can almost forgive her for calling me a fucking Bearman. Especially since I did push her into the pool.

“You know what?” I say magnanimously. “We’re even now.”

“Just like that?” Jack stares at me like I’ve sprouted feathers.

“Excuse me.” The girl straightens her spine, which is when I realize just how tall she is—the top of her head is almost to my chin. “When I hurt your delicate feelings, I was actually getting into character, not taunting anyone. How does that compare with you pushing me into the pool on purpose ?”

“Getting into character?” Jack and I ask in unison.

“Yeah.” She lifts the bear’s head in front of her and says in an exaggeratedly growly voice, “Bearman angry. Bearman has a female inside of him, instead of the other way around.”

My teeth clench involuntarily again. “Like I said, I didn’t push you . It was a misunderstanding.” I glare at Jack, who wisely steps outside my punching and kicking range. I turn my attention back to the girl. “You, on the other hand, just mocked me on purpose. Again.”

“No. Bearman is Mr. Bloom.” She waves the mascot head in front of me. “Mr. Bloom isn’t you… right?”

“Then call your invisible friend Mr. Bloom when you get into character,” I grit out. “Or better yet, don’t get into character when I’m within earshot.”

She bares her teeth—which doesn’t make her look the least bit bearlike. Probably because said teeth are small, white, and very pretty. “I have an even better idea,” she hisses. “How about we don’t speak to each other at all? Ever.”

I fight the urge to straight-up growl at her. “That’s fine by me.” I turn on my heel. “Let’s go, Jack.”

As Jack tags along, he looks reluctant—which nearly costs him some teeth.

I wait until we’re out of the mascot’s earshot before I declare to Jack, “She’s off limits.”

He looks taken aback. “To date, or play pranks on?”

“Off limits.” I imbue the words with a promise of castration. “Spread the word.”

Jack clears his throat. “You know the team has a hazing ritual. Mascot or not, she’s on the team and is a newbie…”

“Fucking fuck.” Those assholes can be fast, too. My first day, those fuckers stole my clothes and left the mascot costume in their stead. I don’t know what the fuck they expected would happen, but I left the locker room naked and three of them ended up in the emergency room.

What the fuck are they going to do to her ?

“Where are those fuckers?” I ask furiously, and when he says he doesn’t know, I go in search of the rest of the team.

I locate them outside the main entrance to the arena, so I tell them to fucking listen to the words I’m about to say very carefully, like their health depends on it. I then explain that no pranks are allowed when it comes to the new mascot.

“But everyone gets pranked on their first day,” whines Isaac, our so-called captain.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and lift him off his feet. “Except her. Is that clear?”

“Actually, these idiots have already set their prank in motion,” says Dante, our goalie, who’s the most competent player and the closest thing to a friend I have on this fucking team.

Oh, and if our league allowed the goalie to be team captain, he’d be ours, and not the ass wipe that I’m currently holding. This guy can’t even spell the word “leader.”

Releasing Isaac, I turn to Dante. “Already?”

Dante runs his vampire-pale hand through his jet-black hair. “Everyone in the building is about to get a cell phone alert instructing them to evacuate.”

As if on cue, my phone dings, and the message is exactly what Dante said it would be: some bullshit about a gas leak.

My molars clench tight again. “I take it the girl is not getting this message?”

A bunch of them shake their heads.

My gaze zeroes in on Isaac. “And what happens next?”

“Nothing bad,” Isaac says, cringing. “As part of the emergency protocol, all the doors will automatically lock. But they’ll reopen tomorrow.”

I’m not sure how, but Isaac ends up dangling in my fist again. “She’s soaking wet from the pool fiasco, and you’re about to lock her in an air-conditioned building?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Isaac says.

What a motherfucker. Disgusted, I let go of him and scan the guilty-looking mugs surrounding me. “Whose fucking idea was it then?”

“Jack’s,” they say in unison.

“What?” My fists clench as I spin to face Jack. “You were with me this whole time.”

Jack backs up, paling. “I came up with it before you said she was off limits. The janitor helped. I can call him to reset the system sooner, or?—”

“How long before the doors lock?” I snap.

“Five minutes.”

I turn toward the arena just as the first members of the staff exit. “You all had better pray I make it in time.”