Page 37 of Puck Shy

I stand from the padded bench I’m sitting on and walk to a row of new sticks on the wall. I take one off a hook and pretend to shoot a goal.

Even though I’m a massive hockey fan, I never really got into playing. I just love the game and always have. It’s mostly my dad’s fault, since he loves it and always made me watch the games with him—still does. I crouch down and swing the stick like I’m doing a slap shot then make a fake horn buzzer noise before cheering like an idiot. The sound of clapping makes my cheeks blush, and I stand up, spinning with the stick still in my hand to meet the wintery-blue gaze of Lucas.

“Nice shot,” he says, one of his dark eyebrows raised in amusement.

The way he’s looking at me lights my lady bits on fire, and for some reason, I take a step back. His gaze looks almost predatory now that I’m really looking at him—and it has my body on high alert.

Lucas takes a step forward, running one of his hands through his dark hair, wet from a shower. He’s got on dark wash jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt that accentuates the muscles of his toned body.

“Are you the one who asked Evan to bring me here?” I ask, trying to stop my mind from entering the gutter.

He eats up the distance between us and doesn’t stop until I’m forced to back into the wall of sticks, the wood clanking together when my body hits them.

“I did,” he says, his breath hitting the skin of my cheek.

I stare into his eyes and notice a fire there I haven’t seen since that night in the bathroom. My stomach flips, and my vagina betrays me again, because I swear she’s started to purr at his nearness. I’d scold her if Lucas wasn’t standing here, looking like he wants to devour me.

I swallow, trying to calm myself. “Why did you ask me here, Lucas?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on his feet. “Do you know what it says when you wear another man’s jersey number, Stevie?”

Oh, shit. He does care.

The butterflies in my stomach turn into rocks, and I have the urge to find Johnny and slap the stick I’m still holding straight into his balls. That little meddling shit. Though I guess I got my wish, too.

I stare into Lucas’s eyes, eyes I’ve come to know so well in the last two months. I wasn’t lying when I told my sister I know his shitting schedule. He may not touch me or look at my boobs, but he did get his wish about us getting to know each other. I even know that his car is due for an oil change and he likes to watch sappy ‘90s rom-coms when he’s alone. His favorite is Never Been Kissed. He’s a dork. A sexy, cute dork who is also my employer and my future brother-in-law.

“Johnny said he cleared it with the team,” I say, my voice huskier than it should sound right now.

Lucas hums. “He didn’t clear it with me.”

“He said it was his birthday. I’m guessing it’s not?”

“He turned twenty-one in January.”

“Motherfucker,” I say under my breath, turning my eyes to the ground.

Lucas stays silent for a second before his pointer finger comes into view. He puts it under my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his. His blue eyes are slightly softer, but I can still see the anger and hurt in them.

“Why did you wear his jersey, Stevie?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I just told you, Johnny—”

He moves his finger to my lips to silence me. “No, I asked you why you wore his jersey, Stevie. And don’t give me the answer we both know is bullshit.”

He presses his finger into my lower lip, my skin moving to reveal my teeth before he lets it go then traces the pad of his finger over the delicate skin. I have his favorite lipstick on again. In fact, I never stopped wearing it.

I kept telling myself that it was because it’s my favorite, too. But if I’m being completely honest with myself, a part of me always wanted him to notice my lips, wanted him to remember what they were like against his skin, around his cock…because I sure as hell have never forgotten. Even when I tried to.

Lucas leans forward so his lips are near the shell of my ear. “Did you do it to rile me up, Cherry?”

My breath catches in my throat at the nickname, the one I’ve heard in my head for the last two months. The one that fell from my lips as I used my rose vibrator to get myself off last night, pretending it was his lips around my clit instead of a toy.

My thighs clench together at his nearness, at the tone in his voice and the feeling of his finger still on my lips. I’ve spent two months failing miserably at keeping him and the mind-blowing sex we had out of my mind. I thought he had gotten over me.

But this says that I was wrong. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself about him, too. Maybe he never turned the light switch off completely—maybe it’s been on dim this whole time, and I’ve purposely ignored it to make things easier. I did think I saw him looking at me sometimes…

Lucas runs his nose along the shell of my ear, and I shiver. “Answer me, Stevie.”

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