Page 54 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“I hate them,” he leers with a scowl, and I smile at him.

“You love them,” I counter. “Now, go play your turn.”

“My dick is hard and—”

“Wells, you clown,” another one—I think Preston—carps out. “Let’s go.”

He sighs, and I steal a kiss from his mouth that he quickly chases before his tongue delves between my lips.

Wells doesn’t make it long, but long enough to keep me buzzing, anticipating that we’ll be up all night tonight before he’s gone and striding toward the lanes while adjusting his jeans.

“Rory.” I glance over to see Cyrus Archer approach with a beer in each hand and an easy grin. He offers me one, then sits beside me in one of the chairs. You can tell he’s still recovering from his broken leg with the slight limp he has, but he hasn’t been walking with a cane or anything. “How's it going on the lanes?"

I shrug, offering a wry smile. "I'm keeping the gutters clean, if that counts for anything."

"Counts more than you know," he chuckles, and his gaze softens. “You’re killing your team’s score, so I’m able to kick Wells’s ass.”

“Gotta keep him humble.”

He brings his beer to his lips. “Shit, if you only knew.”

Cyrus takes a sip and looks back up at me. “So, how is it being the daughter of an NHL coach?"

The question is straightforward and lacks bite, and I notice that he didn’t say rival at the end.

"It's... a unique experience. My dad does a good job of keeping me out of the politics of it all. But there are always challenges, perspectives I get that most don't."

He nods slowly. “I bet. I couldn’t imagine, to be honest.”

“It’s not all that bad. You learn to navigate it.”

“Like you navigated going behind his back and seeing Wells.”

It’s not a question, and I’m not sure where he’s going with it, but I don’t feel guilty for going after what I want.

However, I don’t want Dad to reap the consequences, so I feel a little guilty.

“I was never one to play by other people’s rules,” I shrug. “I want to be with Wells, and my dad will learn to love him.”

Cyrus leans back in his chair and eyes me. “And when are you going to tell him about you guys? Because Wells might not mind it right now. But he can’t remain a dirty secret for the rest of his life.”

I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.

In reality, Wells and I are relatively new to seeing each other, and rocking the boat seems unnecessary but necessary. The longer this goes, the more it will feel like a betrayal in my dad’s eyes.

“After the season,” I blurt out because…well, shit…it has to happen eventually. “When there isn’t so much pressure on everyone.”

“Good idea,” he emits. “We’re playoff-bound right now. And that’s all we think about.”

Meaning: don’t fuck this up for everyone, or I’m not going to be liked anymore.

“I can’t imagine how stressful that must be.”

Cyrus lifts his shoulders dismissively. “You learn to navigate it.”

Right.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Cyrus is observant and doesn’t miss things. I can only imagine what he really thinks of Wells and me.

---