Page 11 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“He’s messing with me, and he must know who you are,” he replies evenly. “The last thing I need is for that to go public.”

That would be a pickle.

They would pin it on my dad and say it was a conflict of interest. Management would also probably spin it to say that Dad isn’t winning any games so that my lover, fuckboy, whatever you want to call Wells, wins his Stanley Cup. I’m in the media game. I know how it can be spun and easily digested by the public.

And the last thing I want my dad to do is freak out to the high heavens. Literally.

“Don’t worry about him, Dad. I won’t be here tomorrow, and he’ll have no one to harass.”

Dad’s anger disappears and turns into disappointment. “You won’t?”

I shake my head. “Work.”

“You work remotely.”

“I have to go into the office.” I don’t tell him why and leave it at that.

I don’t need to go into the office other than to keep my father’s temper down, and I wouldn’t mind seeing my co-workers, either.

And I bet Wells will try this again tomorrow night.

I won’t take his number since I won't be there, so I guess it’ll remain on the glass until someone takes it down.

“Alright then,” Dad mutters. “I guess it’s for the best.”

I jerk my head for him to get on his way so he can call it a night. “Go do your thing, and I’ll call you tomorrow. No yelling.”

He rolls his eyes but pulls me in for a hug, and I promise never to be within Wells’s eyesight again.

For my father’s sake.

4

CHAPTER FOUR

WELLS

The locker room buzzes with victory as my team shouts back and forth amongst each other. Their laughter and high-fives echo off the walls because crushing the Blizzard is almost better than getting laid.

Almost.

Peeling off my sweaty jersey, cool air hits my skin as I get up to my locker. Cyrus immediately interrogates me.

"So, spill the beans.”

I knew my little stunt would cause some questions, especially when it wasn’t on our side of the benches. "What beans? I'm just being friendly."

The boys exchange knowing glances, and Elliot pipes in, "So friendly…Friendly enough to slip a girl your digits during the game?"

Ah, Rory.

That fiery brunette in the stands had caught my eye, and I couldn't resist the chance to stir up a little trouble.

"Just a little harmless fun, guys,” I drone. “Nothing serious."

“Nothing serious, as in she’s the coach’s daughter to our rival team? That kind of not serious? Or the kind where you give our coach a heart attack?”

I glance over at Elliott, and I know he recognizes her as the girl I left with at the bar last night. “I didn’t know she was Coach Sellers’s daughter. Did you?”

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