by April Ryder
"Skid Marks!" someone yelled.
I cringed and tried to ignore whoever it was. But they were insistent and not only that, others had taken to calling out my derby name as well.
With an annoyed sigh, I looked around. My gaze landed on the opposing team—The Wicked B*tches of West Auckland. I'll leave it to your imagination as to why they had named themselves that. One hint: they were from West Auckland.
One of the girls slowly ran her finger across her throat as she stared daggers at me.
"Holy shit."
"Ignore them," Kilty told me.
I did my best but failed miserably, so she grabbed my hand and hustled me off the rink to our seats where we waited for the referees to check the track and the announcers to explain the rules and introduce the teams.
Pretty looked at us sternly and waited for an explanation. Kilty, thankfully, answered for me.
"Looks like your ex has it in for Skids."
I was taken aback by that revelation. The woman who had mimed slicing her throat was the same one who had left Pretty for a man. Pretty snarled at the mention of her ex and I internally eeped when I saw her claws flash. Why was I not surprised by the fact her fingernails had pointy ends on them? This girl was aptly named.
"Don't worry," Pretty told me. "If she does anything to you, I'll cut her."
I gulped and surreptitiously located the nearest exits in case I had to make a run for it. That wasn't comforting at all.
I was going to die.
The derby started and Pretty had me sit out the first couple of jams. It seemed I wasn't the only one the B*tches had it in for. That or this was how they approached all matches. It was nothing like the match against the Manukau Maulers. No, that team was tame in comparison. Tonight the Selby Slammers were getting slammed by the B*tches. They hadn't yet drawn blood but they still had heaps of time to do that. Several of their skaters were sin binned early, leaving them with a skeleton team on the rink, which made things easier for our blockers and allowed us to accumulate heaps of points when it was our jam. But I couldn't sit on the bench forever. Pretty knew that and so did the B*tches.
Pretty's hand was finally forced after the first injury. Chirpy landed on her chin after tumbling over a B*tch who had fallen in front of her. While the refs argued whether she had fallen on purpose, Kilty helped Chirpy to the St. John's ambulance officers for first aid. Chirpy looked fine but a little shaken.
As for me, I almost shit my red knickers when Pretty called me to take Chirpy's place. I skated into the group, happy to see that the girl who the refs now agreed had fallen deliberately had been sent to the sin bin. I wasn't so happy to see her staring straight at me as she sank to one knee at the side of the rink and waited. Biding her time.
The whistle blew, startling me. I pushed forward on one stopper and managed to keep up with the rest of my team. We were densely packed, allowing elbows to be freely thrown by both sides. When Adam had taken me to my first derby the other week, we had sat in the stands, which meant I had missed seeing the violence. But now that I was in the midst of it, feeling the tension and aggression wash over me, I found it intoxicating. I could see how easy it was to lose yourself and be swept up in the moment—and I was. Normally I would never have thought of body slamming someone, but I did it. I did it without a second or even first thought. The primal part of my brain had control. I was acting on instinct and no matter how hard they came at me, I came back harder. Any shit they gave me, I gave it back just as good.
Blood pumped through my ears so loud that it drowned out the crowd. The adrenaline high I rode kept me going, and before I knew it I had survived five jams. I was pissed at being ordered off for a rest but that was short-lived.
Kilty slapped my helmet and waited for me to lock eyes with her. "Pretty wants you to jam next. You up for it?"
She was giving me a choice. It was my first derby and we both knew the other team had it out for me, but this team—my team—needed me. Half our regular jammers were either sin binned or sidelined due to injury.
"I can do it," I told her and I really did believe it.
"Good."
I skated back onto the rink, brushing low fives into the hands of my blockers as I coasted past and took my place behind them. The B*tch's jammer snarled like an animal next to me and I did my best to ignore her scare tactics. I chewed on my mouthguard as we tried to get our stoppers in front of each other before the jammer whistle blew.
I wiped sweat from my nose with my wrist as time slowed. My breath came in short bursts through my mouth. I stood like the Flash frozen in midstride. My whole body tensed except my right knee, which shook uncontrollably.
Finally the shriek of the jamming whistle pierced the air and time collapsed on itself, back to normal. I sprang into action, putting as much force as I could into pushing off. The only thing I hadn't counted on was no one else moving. For a split second I thought I had misheard the whistle but then I saw my blockers skating away around the bend. The B*tches had remained in place, keeping themselves between me and the relative safety of my team. They had surprised us all and I was trapped.
I desperately tried to skate around them but they stepped right into my path but I couldn't stop. I flashbacked to when I had skittled Rick and whimpered. This would hurt. I smashed into them with so much force that I took most of them down with me. Those that I hadn't, dogpiled on top, squishing me into the rink. They were definitely heavier than Rick and they smelled worse too.
I started to panic. They were too heavy and I couldn't breathe. Arms and legs were everywhere. I never thought it would end this way, asphyxiated by a pile of girls in short skirts and skates.
The weight on top of me might have lessened and I think I heard yelling but that might have been the lack of oxygen getting to my brain. The bright lighting of the stadium suddenly blinded me as the last stinky body was removed.
I gulped in precious air and starred dumbly up at Jake.
"Is it time for the hockey?" I asked, not sure what he was doing on the rink. "I want to watch you—I mean—it."
Someone out of my view snorted and I knew it was Rick. I let Jake lift me to my wobbly feet, still not sure what was going on. It took a moment for the scene around me to come into focus. I was right, it had been Rick who had snorted. He currently had his hands full with Pretty, who bared her teeth at one of the B*tches. I wasn't surprised to find it was her ex. The refs looked just as dazed as I was. I counted four other members of the men's hockey team corralling players or helping the rest of the B*tches to their feet.
"Are you all right, Princess?" Jake asked.
I stared up starry-eyed—from my near-death experience or because I was lust-struck—at him. He was perhaps the only sane person on the rink.
I said the first thing that came to mind. "Why are you so hot?"
He smiled and slowly escorted me back to the Slammers side of the rink. "I don't know," he said, humouring me. "I spend a lot of time in the gym, though."
"That's probably it."
He paused before easing me into my seat. "I've never met a girl like you. You're different."
"Oh," I said and dreaded where this was going. I reached under my chair for my water bottle and took a fortifying slug of what I was surprised to find was vodka.
"I kinda like it," he said then thumped me hard on the back as I coughed and spluttered on my unexpected sports drink.
"Oh good," I wheezed. No matter what anyone tells you, that stuff is not smooth. "I kinda like it too—I mean, you. I like you!"
And of course, half my team heard my admission. Some egged me on while others—mostly the other jammers—glared daggers at me. Just what I needed, more enemies.
Thankfully one of the refs skated over and gave us a quick heads-up on what was going to happen next, ending the figurative death threats.
"We've got five minutes left on the first half, so we're gonna finish them then break for fifteen. Got any objections?" he asked.
When everyone sh
ook their heads he nodded and zipped back to the other refs who congregated in the centre of the rink.
The men were forced off the rink and back into the audience and I was grateful to be sitting out the rest of this half.
"Them be crazy bitches," one of my teammates muttered as we watched the last five minutes play out. I couldn't agree with her more.
The end of the first half was a joke. One of the blockers for the B*tches had been disqualified and the rest—save for two—were sin binned. So for the majority of those five minutes, the Slammers were the only ones scoring points. There was no way the two blocker B*tches could stop the Slammers' jammer and we eased into the lead when the halftime whistle was blown.
I had fifteen minutes to find Jake and try to explain to him what I had meant when I'd blurted out that I liked him. Instead of finding Jake though, I found several of the B*tches lying in wait for me. They bustled me into an empty changing room and set their evil sights on me.
The one who had non-verbally threatened to slit my throat—who was incidentally also Pretty's ex—stepped forward. She wasn't as big as me but she had a hardness in her eyes that told me she could easily take me. Tonight had been my first taste of violence, but she was a hardened criminal in comparison.
I found my voice and tried to work out just what the hell was going on here. "What the hell is going on? Why have you got it in for me? This is my first match—"
"You're a slut," she said.
I blinked rapidly. "What?"
"You fucked my boyfriend."
More blinking as I tried to make sense of what I was being told. "Paul is your boyfriend?" She didn't look anything like the blonde stick insect Adam had described.
"Who the fuck is Paul?"
Now both of us were confused.
"My ex fiancé. He left me for another woman. And he's the only man I've ever um…had sex with."
"You lying bitch!" she said and jammed her hand into a pocket.
I flinched, expecting her to pull out a knife or something. Instead, out came a cell phone. She tapped at it and to my horror I heard myself—on loudspeaker—having a very familiar orgasm.
The girl looked smug as she watched my reaction. I could feel the all-over blush of embarrassment.
"I can explain," I said.
She raised an eyebrow and dared me to try.
"I…have you ever used a detachable showerhead on yourself…down there?"
A few of the girls behind her nodded. I saw one click as to where I was going with this.
"Well, the disabled shower stall has one and I, um…this is really embarrassing…called him Jake. So technically the only one I was cheating on was Shawn."
"Who's Shawn?" she asked, looking more confused than before.
"That's the name of my shower at home."
I held my breath as she glared at me. "Is that what you were doing the other morning? Wanking in the shower?"
"What? The other morning? Wait, are you the one who pooped on my welcome mat?"
"No. Maybe. Yeah. Dammit," she sighed and shoved the phone back in her pocket. "I can't believe I dumped him over a recording of you wanking in a shower."
"You broke up with who?" I asked but then realisation hit. "You're Jake's girlfriend?"
"Was," she corrected. "He won't take me back. Not after I took a dump in his car."
"You took—never mind," I said stunned at the lengths this girl had gone to over a perceived wrong. Perhaps I should have pooped on Paul but the opportunity had never presented itself, and I'm not that creative.
"I suppose I should apologise," she said.
"You believe me?" I asked then mentally kicked myself.
"Yeah, what you said about your ex. Trish had told me about him. Real scumbag. She tried to tell me you'd be the last to steal another girl's man. I should have listened."
"Wait, you're Trish from work's derby friend?"
She clapped a hand on my shoulder and assured me that, "The second half will be clean. But don't take that to mean we'll go easy on you. We're the Wicked B*tches of West Auckland, after all. We have a reputation to maintain."
The B*tches left me alone in the changing room and I tried to understand what had happened. I had no idea that the derby and hockey teams had such incestuous relationships. It did, however, mean that Jake was currently single. But that could wait for now. I had something more important to deal with first. Someone had recorded me in the shower last week. Someone had recorded me calling out Jake's name as I came. Then somehow Jake's girlfriend had gotten it. They were responsible for the pain my fellow Slammers and I had suffered at the hands of the B*tches. They were the reason I had poo shoe!
My anger boiled over to nuclear. Only one person who had been in the changing room other than me. The Dick. He was a dead man.
I skated out into the stadium, ignoring the halftime dance event put on by the local high school and grabbed the first member of the men's hockey team that I saw.
"Where is the dick?" I demanded.
"Um…in my pants?" he said with an anxious yet hopeful look on his face.
"I mean Rick. Where is Rick?"
He pointed to another changing room across the stadium. "He's come straight from work. Said he needed a shower."
"Good. He's alone."
Satisfied with his answer I let him go. I raced toward the door of the changing room and skated straight in.
"You're a dick!" I yelled at him. A very naked dick, I noted, but I didn't let it distract me from my anger.
He didn't react, just continued drying himself with a towel.
"Look at me while I'm yelling at you," I demanded and tugged on his biceps. Damn, now that was muscle.
"What?" he asked.
"Don't say what to me," I said, hands on hips, ready to let him have it. "You recorded me in the shower last week. That's…that's…"
"Disgusting?" he offered.
"Yeah that. And stealing my knickers. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I didn't do it."
"Like hell you didn't!"
He put his hands on his hips and glowered. My eyes yo-yo'd between his—wow—and his stony face.
"You are a gross, jerk-faced, idiot. And a pervert! Yes, a damn perv—mmph."
The dick interrupted my angry tirade by smashing his lips against mine. I tried to yell at him some more but his tongue invaded my mouth and distracted me. Lots of things were. One rather large one was pressed against my hip. Another two were his hands as they rounded my butt. My eyes bugged out at his boldness. But I was still angry with him. Dammit, yes I was!
I managed to break my mouth free and demanded, "What are you doing?"
"Probably something I'll regret," he said as he pushed me backwards on my skates.
The back of my butt bumped against the bench of wash basins. Before I could complain—let alone squeak—he lifted me up. My hand activated the sensor on one of the taps and water flowed into the sink beside me. I quickly moved it out of the way and glared up at Rick.
"I'm still angry with you," I reminded him before I grabbed his ears and yanked his mouth back into place.
"Good," he murmured against my lips, "I like it."
"But I really am," I said and whacked him in the shoulder to prove it. Of course it didn't hurt him. I hit worse than a girl!
I gasped when he ripped open my white shirt. Buttons pinged away never ever to be found again. He yanked it down, along with my bra and pinned my arms uselessly to my sides. My breasts spilled free from their underwire prison and begged for attention. Traitors!
This—whatever this was—was already hands down better than anything Paul had ever tried. His repertoire had been severely limited.
Rick played with my traitors. He tested their weight in his large hands and teased my nipples with his thumbs. All the while he kept my mouth busy—probably so I wouldn't yell at him again and call him names—with his dexterous tongue. I was already making a list of other places I wanted to put his appendage to work.<
br />
"Oh God," I moaned as he turned his tongue to one of those above-mentioned places. My nipples stood no chance. I desperately wanted to touch him, but he had effectively restrained me. All I could do was wrap my legs around his waist, so I did exactly that.
"You're still a dick," I said as he ground against me. "Oh God."
"Make your mind up," he said.
"What?" Rational thought started to pack up and leave. I was angry with him, right? Why?
"Am I a dick or a god?" he asked right before his fingers found my red knickers and what they were inadequately protecting.
I gritted my teeth together, determined not to moan again. He was a dick and we both knew it. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of—
"Oh God."
I wanted to smack the smug look off his face but I couldn't remember why I would ever want to do that when he pulled my knickers aside and twirled twice around my clit. My body jerked once and when I dug my skates into his buttocks. It was by reflex, not choice. He grunted at the unexpected pain but continued to tease me.
"God you're wet," he murmured.
I grinned as I smeared my kiss-swollen lips across his. "Now who's god?"
"I am," he assured me and nipped at my lower lip. Again he proved it when he slipped a finger inside me.
"I hate you."
"Keep thinking that sweetheart."
The torture continued. A second finger joined the first. This was insane. Anyone could walk in at any minute. The men had a game after—gaaaahhh.
He made me go cross-eyed.
"I don't have a condom," he confessed, the frustration in his voice evident. I knew exactly how he felt.
My anger flared. "You're a dick and a tease! I really hate you," I said but didn't tell him to stop.
He curled his fingers inside me and found a spot neither Paul nor Shawn had found. "I'm on the pill and I'm clean," I confessed. "Do whatever you want to me, just do it now."