Page 1 of Pucks and Coffee

CHAPTER 1

Coleson

“No one likes you.”

Wow. Well, that’s kind of fucked up. I’m a likable dude. I play hockey and make a damn good brew; I’m a winner in my book. I’m not entirely sure who the hell these people are who don’t like me, but in my opinion, fuck ’em. I bring in my brows, my face scrunching up, before I set El Davenport with a look that telegraphs exactly what I’m thinking.

“I mean, I think you’re great,” she adds with a nervous giggle. El is the social media manager for the Knoxville Bears, the American Hockey League team I play for. She’s savvy as all hell in all things social media. She has done a great job with the Bears’ accounts, along with the account for the arena we play in.

El knows what she’s doing, and she does it well.

Doesn’t mean I agree with her assessment of me, but I’m guessing the folder in front of her will explain why I’m so unlikable.

“Don’t hold back now, El. Hit me where it hurts.”

She grimaces before opening her folder. Her chestnut-colored hair is up in a big, messy bun, pieces falling around her face and in her blue eyes, while her dark glasses slide down her nose. She swallows hard and sits back on the barstool she’s occupying. I lean on the high-top, waiting, and I cup my jaw to keep my hands still. Nerves eat at my gut, and my chest is tight as I watch her. This is the last damn thing I want to do today.

Or any day, really.

When I tried out for the Knoxville Bears, I didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance in hell of making the team, but I did. Not only did I make the team, but the coach saw something in me that no one else did. Talent. Raw talent that could be molded. I have spent the last year working with the coaches and trainers, getting better each day. I never thought the NHL was in the cards for me. My parents didn’t care to support my dreams, and no one told me I could make that dream a reality. Not until I met Riggs McCoy, the coach for the Knoxville Bears.

He believes in me, which is good since I still feel like the NHL is unattainable.

“You’ve done great not sleeping with anything that wiggles its ass at you,” she says softly, as if she’s embarrassed for me. She doesn’t need to be. I’m not. So, I fucked around. I was a nobody before I got on the team.

Once word hit the town that I was playing for the Bears, everyone came out of the woodwork, thinking they could lock me down and make me their cash cow. Nope. Not happening. But I sure did enjoy myself. “The comments on posts of you, saying you’re a whore, have finally stopped.”

That was fun and was started by Tonya, a girl who tried to get me to knock her up. She went all out, poking holes in condoms and trying to get me drunk to get me to come inside her. It was interesting, and I learned quickly that, in general, these girls in Knoxville are no good. Neither are the ones in the surrounding towns. Hell, even here in Blitz. They are all thirsty as fuck. “I’m sure that’s making your life easier.”

She gives me a shy grin, and her eyes light up. “It is. I hate trying to explain to my peepaw why no one likes you.”

“But they still don’t?”

She nods solemnly. “Your image has been ruined by all the girls you were with. And I’ve been through hell, trying to get those accounts shut down. Be glad we have a great lawyer.”

“Thank you for that,” I tell her since I am very thankful for her.

Those accounts gave access to photos of my cock—and more, to people who subscribed—and were not only bad for my image, but for the team. And my coffeehouse. Yes, it was a terrible idea to allow girls to take photos of me, but I was drunk most of the time, and I enjoyed showing off. Not that I care much what anyone thinks of me, but all those sites, photos, and more didn’t do me any favors.

Everyone would come in for a “coffee,” but then they wouldn’t touch the brew and, instead, would just stare at me while looking at pictures of my cock on their devices. Yes, it brought in a lot of revenue and got me some easy ass, but I’ve turned over a new leaf.

I am trying to be wholesome.

A player the NHL would be proud to have.

According to El.

“It was a pleasure. I enjoy siccing the lawyers on people. That’s fun.” Her cheeks warm with color before her eyes meet mine. “Not sleeping around isn’t enough, though. We need to do something else.”

“Okay. As in what? Go serve chili to the homeless? Save some cat out of a tree? Play hockey in the street with some kids? What are you thinking?”

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, and it catches my attention. If I were truly a manwhore like everyone says I am, I would hit on her. She’s a beautiful girl, smart, and has a hella great ass. But I don’t. Because I am a good guy…ish. “You’re not gonna like it.”

I arch a brow. “Spit it out, El.”

“A girlfriend.”

I find myself gawking at her, my eyes blinking on their own as I try to process her words. Then I sputter, “A girlfriend?”

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