Page 20 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

WELLS: Promise me you won’t block me.

RORY: You’re really waving red flags all around here, aren’t you?

WELLS: A man has to get your attention somehow.

RORY: Did it need to be in front of your rival team and my father?

WELLS: I’m not afraid of them.

RORY: Well, you should be of my father. He lost his shit the last time you came around me.

WELLS: He’ll love me.

WELLS: Well, once he admits that my team is superior to him.

RORY: I doubt that will ever happen.

WELLS: You already realized it.

RORY: I might have already chosen to go against my better judgment; however, it doesn’t take away the fact that our continuing to be together is a big no-no.

WELLS: Why?

WELLS: Are you gonna pull a spy mission and use me for your father’s crazy ventures?

RORY: Like?

WELLS: Learning our plays and asking me evasive questions that could ruin my team- or reputation.

RORY: No.

WELLS: Then we’re good. Feel free to use me for anything else.

RORY: I’m not going to use you.

WELLS: I really wish you would. The last time you did, I had the best sex of my life.

RORY: Why do I think that’s a load of bullshit?

WELLS: I don't know. Why do you?

“Stop texting him, Rory,” Marshall chides. I didn’t realize he had crept closer.

I’ve been around hockey dudes all my life, but there’s something about the guys on the Blizzard that is next-level cocky.

The Montreal Blizzard is not the best team in the NHL, but they aren’t the worst. My father built this team back from nothing, and it took years. Because of his efforts, the fan base has increased incrementally.

However, once these morons started winning games and I continued to come by to support Dad in his career, they tried to get a stronghold on me like I was their team mascot or something.

“Mind your own business, Marshall,” I return flatly, almost bored. “I’ve almost got him out of the building.”

“James is coming in.”

Shit.

Glancing up, James Dorsey steps off the ice in all his boy-next-door glory.

He’s a problem.

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