Page 3 of Pucks and Books

Eliza snorts at me. “Not at all. You’ll be someone’s Persephone, Lou. Don’t worry.”

Always the optimist, my sister, but I know the truth.

The only way I’ll get what I want is if I write my own happily-ever-after.

Which will include a hunky, possessive guy who gives me all the orgasms and pomegranates.

CHAPTER 2

Ciaran

I pull down my hood a bit to cover my face when I hear the owner of Dirty Pages moving boxes and grunting. I know her assistant, who I assume is her sister, saw me come through the back, but she only shot me a grin as a half-dressed guy ran out the front door, and then the owner came down, yelling about how guys are trash. I only came for the book in my hand, but it’s real hard to continue reading when she’s going on and on about her opinion of men.

That we’re all selfish trash.

I mean, she’s not completely wrong.

I guess I should be more offended, considering I am of the male gender, but I get it. There are guys out there who just ruin it for all of us. Or maybe my opinion is a little skewed since I deal with the guys who are usually angry they didn’t make it right into the NHL. So to ease that pain, they sleep with anything with tits, drink, do drugs, and gamble their time and chances away.

It was the main reason I left the AHL team in Arizona. I drafted high, first round, but I didn’t make the roster for the Sharks. Instead of getting mad or blowing off steam through toxic vices, I dug in and worked my ass off on and off the rink. Was it enough?

Nope. I never saw the Sharks’ ice, but that’s okay. Things happen for a reason, and I have to trust myself. Or I’ll go crazy and end up like most of the washed-up AHL players. That won’t be me. I will see the Nashville Assassins’ ice. Hell, I almost made the roster this year and they love me there, but there were better guys, according to them. To me, I’m the best, but it’s just not my time yet. It’ll happen. It has to.

“I want to have endless orgasms and then be fed pomegranates. Is that too much to ask?”

I love pomegranates.

And I’m a dude, so I love to come.

But making a girl come? That’s what really gets me off.

Her request tears me away from the page I’ve read four times, and I almost volunteer as tribute. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since moving to Tennessee. I’ve worked my ass off on the ice, so surely I can do my duty to show this girl that not all men are as awful as she claims. It would be an honor, honestly, because Dirty Pages’ owner is hot—like, next-level hot. I’ve seen her around town, and while everyone loves to talk shit about her and how she is bringing porn to their town, I’m thankful for her.

I grew up reading. The earliest memories I have are of my grandma reading The Hobbit to me. When I wasn’t skating, I was reading. I never got into video games or Lego; it was books and hockey. When I stumbled upon my mom’s Harlequin novels… Well, let’s just say I didn’t need porn like my friends had. Then I got into audiobooks, and I thought life couldn’t get any better. I could listen to the book I was reading and work out. It was fantastic.

But the one thing I never could get into was e-readers. I think it’s because my grandma never had one, and neither did my mom. There were always stacks and stacks of books throughout the whole house. Hell, every time a sibling moved out, my mom turned the left-behind room into a library.

My gift to her when I drafted was to pay off her house, and then I had designers come in and build her real libraries, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and rolling ladders. I think that’s another reason I love this shop, not only for the hot owner and the books, but for the massive number of bookcases and rolling ladders. It reminds me of home, and that reason alone has me coming here more than I should.

I share an apartment with one of my teammates, Alejandro Cruz, and while I love the big doof, he teases me relentlessly when he sees me come home with one of these books. He won’t just let me be, let me read in my room or on the patio. No, he has to tease me and act a fool until I give in and play video games. When he realized I read naughty books, he called me a pussy and told me to watch porn like a real man.

He grew up with three brothers, the baby of the family, so he doesn’t know how to act unless he’s bullying someone. It’s rather concerning, but under all that roughness is a good dude. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and when we both found out we were traded to the Assassins and would be going to Knoxville together, we were stoked. I’d just forgotten how much of an annoying dick he can be.

The younger sister lets out a not-so-ladylike snort that makes me smile and pulls me away me from thoughts of Cruz. “Not at all. You’ll be someone’s Persephone, Lou. Don’t worry.”

Lou. Hmm, I wonder what that’s short for. No one ever says her name around town; it’s always “that Dirty Pages hussy.” I really don’t know why people are like that.

I love a woman who loves her sexuality, and I feel that romance books help women realize their wants, their desires and, most of all, their kinks. It’s actually a service to men everywhere—if they’d just swallow their pride and listen. A hard feat for some, apparently, but not for me. Though, I don’t have time for any of that. I’ve got goals to achieve, and I truly don’t have time for anything else.

“How does it feel to always be so optimistic, Eliza? Because for me, it’s annoying,” Lou says, her voice getting louder as Eliza’s laughter follows her. I look up just as she walks by, a huge box in her arms as she grumbles something about her sister being a stupid ray of sunshine. I almost chuckle at her dismay, but then I’m taken aback by how tightly her jeans hug her hips. She carefully sets down the box, squatting with the motion as the fabric of her jeans strains from the curve of all that ass. I lean back, stretching my body like a cat as I watch her move. I pray her pants split down the middle so I can see more, but then I’m distracted as she shakes her hair out behind her, the dark, shoulder-length waves flowing along her back.

My mouth goes dry when she drops to her knees, her cute little toes curling up under her ass as she pulls her hair into a high, messy ponytail. She’s wearing a crop top, and I can see the curves and rolls along her ribs. I want to grab them, squeeze her flesh between my fingers as I get lost in the crook of her neck. I can see the perfect spot I’d bite and soothe with my tongue. I’d get her earlobe between my teeth and then whisper the dirtiest shit in her ear. Things she’s only read, but I’m going to do to her.

I swallow hard, my eyes traveling along every inch of her neck and jaw, and yeah, I need to go.

Like now.

I close the book, not even the least bit interested in it anymore, and start to get out of the huge stuffed leather chair when Eliza comes around the corner with another box of books. She meets my gaze, grins, and then looks at her sister.

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