Page 34 of Puck Shy

“Yep, right near the blue line.”

I snatch the jersey from his hands. “If you guys lose, you can’t blame me.”

He scoffs. “We’re not going to lose. We’re ready for this game.”

“You all look great.” And I mean that, too. This team works together, like a well-oiled machine. They seem like they’ve been playing together for years. It’s been a privilege to watch them get better and better every game. I have no doubt they’re going to make the playoffs this year.

Johnny puts his helmet on and says, “Wear the jersey.” He gives me a goofy smile. “You’ll thank me later.” Then he skates onto the ice without looking back. I look down at the jersey in my hand.

I guess there’s no harm in wearing it. Even if Johnny is playing a joke, would it be so bad? It would confirm or deny the questions in my head that wonder if Lucas has completely stopped being interested in me. Then maybe I can move on and take care of my blue lady balls.

He probably won’t care, but there’s a part of me, the part that craves and misses his attention, that hopes he will have a reaction. Though I’m sure he won’t. And if Johnny is telling the truth about the team approving of me wearing the jersey, then Lucas for sure has moved on—and I got my stupid wish. We’re just friends.

I look out at him on the ice. He’s stretching and chatting with some of the other guys. As if he can feel me staring, his eyes catch mine. My stomach fills with nervous butterflies like it always does when he looks at me. He dips his head in acknowledgment and then goes back to what he’s doing.

I watch as he does his hip stretches, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s being extra about it because he knows I’m looking. I bite my lip as I watch him move his hips into the ice, and suddenly, I feel hot. Really hot. My thighs clench together, and I know that’s my signal to leave.

I already got off once thinking about him in the bath earlier, a particular fantasy I’ve dreamt up of him fucking me on the ice while the team watches. I feel my lower belly coil, and I dare a glance back at Lucas again. He’s laughing at something Jason says, and an entirely different warmth fills me. I know why my attraction hasn’t gone away, and it’s because I’ve gotten to know him—the funny, caring, smart, hard-working man who loves to give to charity and spends extra time with his teammates to bond with them when I know he wants to go to bed.

He moves into another deep hip stretch, and I sigh.

I need to leave now, or who knows what I may do? I might not be able to stop myself from jumping him on the ice. Damn horny vagina has a mind of her own.

I groan. Vibrator, here I come. For the second time today.

Chapter sixteen

Lucas

“Hey, Jason, is Cap’s right bicep bigger than the other?” Johnny asks, studying my arms like an idiot.

I roll my eyes and pull my compression shirt over my head. “Don’t start with this shit again, Rookie.”

Jason steps up and slaps me on the shoulder. “We’re just looking out for you, MVP.”

I grit my teeth and begin to pull on the rest of my gear. When the team heard Stevie use her nickname for me once, the guys started calling me it whenever they want to rile me up. They know I don’t like anyone but her calling me that, even if I’ve never explicitly said it out loud.

“We saw the way you were making googly eyes at Lucky today when you thought none of us were looking. Today you were especially googly.”

I growl, pissed they noticed—and at that dumb name. “Stop calling her that.”

Jason throws his arm around Johnny then puts his free hand under his chin and does the best googly eyes he can.

“‘Hi, my name is Lucas McKnight, and I’m in love but refuse to do anything about it. I just angrily win games and then go home and jerk off while I cry in the shower.’”

I crack my neck and take a step toward Jason, ready to punch him in the face. I’ve never violently hit one of my teammates, but I’m about to.

Johnny sees my reaction and steps away from Jason, pressing his hand to my chest. “Okay, okay. He was teasing. Apologize, Jason.”

Jason smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Cap. Took it too far.”

I step back and grab my jersey. “Seems to be a theme lately.” And I’m not lying. They’ve been ribbing me about her since day one, but they’ve amped it up in the last couple of weeks. I tried to cut it out, but apparently, I’ve gotten worse. And I couldn’t help it after what I heard and subsequently imagined earlier this afternoon.

I don’t know how I’m an actor, because clearly I can’t act when my real feelings are involved. The only person who seems to remain oblivious as to how I feel is Stevie. Her calling my name out in the tub doesn’t mean she knows how I feel. It just means she’s thinking about me. But it could also just be her fantasizing.

I mean, we’re friends. At this point, I’ve learned what kind of food she likes (eggs Benedict and burgers), what kind of coffee she needs to have in the morning (iced shaken double espresso), and what kind of music she likes (emo stuff from the early 2000s like Fall Out Boy). I even know she hates early mornings and only likes cinnamon toothpaste. What a weirdo.

Her getting off to images of me might mean nothing. Or they could mean something, but I still want to remain professional. If she feels different, then it’s up to her to tell me. Even though I may have ruined my chance at this point if she really doesn’t notice how much I look at her.

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