Page 1 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

Chapter One

Izzy

“Yeah, like that,” Brad moans. His gritty voice bounces off the tiled walls of the bar’s grimy bathroom. It smells like piss and mildew, but maybe that’s a turn on for the bitch kneeling in front of him.

“You like that, baby?” Livvy asks.

“Yeah, I like that.”

Slurping and sucking noises continue. I can’t see them. They’re “hidden” in the handicap stall, as if that’s somehow going to keep people from hearing them or seeing her on her knees in her cheap, see-through leggings.

There’s a fucking two-foot gap between the floor and the partition walls.

Livvy’s used to being nasty, so crawling around on the floor of a public bathroom must be right at home to her.

Stop it, Izzy. Stop. It’s not Livvy’s fault that Brad’s a manwhore.

Well, it’s a little her fault. Her lips didn’t accidentally end up on his dick. He isn’t sucking himself off.

Brad Cameron, the newly minted captain of the Addevale Cannons, releases yet another long groan.

When I rushed in to check my hair and face before seeing him, a plethora of emotions washed over me.

Shock at finding them.

Anger that he betrayed me.

Sort of.

Sadness that my plan had fallen apart.

Then less shock because Livvy’s been chasing him as long as I have. She even stopped going by “Olivia” and started using “Livvy” coincidentally at the same time Brad began favoring me.

It was obvious even a year ago that Brad is going places. When Lemner announced his retirement, I immediately knew that management would select Brad to replace him as captain. He’s charismatic, handsome, and knows how to toe the line. He’ll look great on posters, and his last name—Cameron—is perfect for the back of the jerseys in the club shop.

Which made him perfect for my plans.

Livvy whimpers and slurps in a disgusting display of faux arousal. No one actually sounds like that. She should lay off the porn.

Most puck bunnies don’t care which player they get night-to-night. They want a few moments in the sun. Time with an athlete to sate their curiosity and wilder impulses. Something to say they’ve done it and gain a few orgasms. Maybe a few baubles. Maybe a few nice dinners.

Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

There’s nothing quite like the rush from seeing a game, the surge of being the one they go home with, and then being lavished and ravished by an alpha riding the high of a win.

Eventually, they realize the guys are replaceable, see you as the same, and the sheen wears off. I don’t bother to learn the girls’ names until they’ve stuck around for a bit.

And then there are the elites—people like me who know there’s a prize to be had if you can pick his pocket and steal his coveted wife card.

The Cannons are one of the best teams in the league. Even Addevale’s minor club recruits to the national teams more than others in the league. Some of the best scouts and trainers call the city home.

Scoring a Cannon is a golden ticket. Scoring the captain? A moonshot.

“That’s it, Iz . . . Livvy . . .” Brad moans. “Right there, a little harder. Yeah, like that.”

Bile rises in my throat. I really thought we were headed somewhere. My roommate’s getting engaged soon, which means I’ll need a new couch to surf. Brad had been open to the idea of having “my fine piece of ass” around twenty-four-seven.

As an omega, I have so few choices. Most of us are involuntarily submitted to the Administration. That means being forced by the Admin into the selection or worse.

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