Page 48 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“Actually, no, he hasn’t. Surprisingly, I’ve never had any weird altercations with Coach Sellers. I don’t mess with the staff. They can’t skate on the ice and knock me out if I run my mouth, so it seems unfair.”

A chuckle rumbles from Rory then, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thought it was funny, but it’s true. I’m not about to fuck with a defenseless older man.

"Wells, even if we went back to my hotel room, that doesn’t change anything in there.” She nods toward the door of the hall. “It might be best that we...”

“Are you cutting me out? Is this it?” She averts her gaze, and I see hesitation in those beautiful green eyes. She’s dealing with a civil war in her head, which means she feels something for me, and I’ll take it. “I know what I signed up for, Snowflake. However, if you don’t want to go through with it anymore, say the word, and I’ll respect the hell out of your decision. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

“Maybe it’s best,” she deadpans, and my heart falls at those words.

I never thought that going out one night to a bar with the intent to beat the shit out of Charles Gagnon was going to cost me more than any consequence I’ve ever received on or off the ice. This is karma at its best. For every woman I may have hurt emotionally and every game I’ve played off the ice, this is it.

The shit hurts, and it’s real.

“Alright,” I manage to get out, feeling my stomach twist and turn uncomfortably. “If that’s what you want—”

“But I was never one to make the best decisions,” she tacks on, lifting her green eyes to me. And at that moment, my heart jumps into my throat. “You can come to my hotel room. And I want several orders of all sorts of food, Judson Wells, not just one.” I open my mouth to agree when she continues wholeheartedly with, “And we’re not fucking, Killer. I like the idea of you kissing my ass for the next several days.”

“Done,” I blurt out, reaching for her hip, but I stop there. Many people are coming out of the hall, and someone could notice me, despite the hat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Game back on, Snowflake.

15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RORY

Ariot of color greets me as I step into my office.

Peonies, roses, carnations—a fragrant fusion of Wells’ apology.

In the wake of our last encounter a couple of nights ago, which was both intense and awakening, I've kept him at a careful distance. I couldn’t pull the trigger on ending things. Something in the way he looked at me spoke volumes—his offense wasn’t totally unforgivable, and he knows I’m a sucker for flowers.

Yet, I know the path forward with Wells will be challenging. We can't keep this a secret forever. That’s not fair to either of us. But the truth is, Wells isn't something I can give up, not yet.

I'll take the gamble not because I'm blind to the stakes but because I want to see what 'us' could mean for me. If it ends in flames, I won’t have a “what-if” eating at me for the rest of my life.

With a defeated sigh, I pull out my phone and unblock Wells on Instagram. This can’t go unnoticed, obviously.

And I love the damn flowers.

RORY: I love the flowers. Thank you!

WELLS: I’m glad.

WELLS: When can I see you again?

WELLS: And why am I still unable to reach you through text?

Because this is safer.

I stare at the message, the cursor blinking expectantly for an answer.

“Holy crap.” I glance up at Chloe, her eyes wide as she soaks in the multitude of flowers all over my desk, her desk, empty desks, and the reception area. “Damn, he’s good.”

See?

“It looks like a botanical garden in here.”

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