Poetry on Ice

I can’t tell if we’re fighting...or flirting? Being traded to the Seattle Vipers has left me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, they’re my team, the team I’ve loved and supported since I was a kid, but on the other hand, he’s here. Him. Ant Decker. Infamous NHL bad boy. Right wing to my left. A man who’s made it his sole purpose in life to be better than me. Well, the joke’s on him because I’m faster and my stats are better than his. Not that I’m competing with him. Of course not. I wouldn’t stoop to his level. He’s the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. A dark, chaotic presence that distracts me. When we’re not coming to blows on the ice, he tries to provoke me by calling me Princess. And Pretty Boy...and Babygirl. I hate it. Obviously, I do. It makes me so angry I can hardly see straight. So why does my body react as if I like it?