Page 187 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Fuck.

Sharp pain exploded in my shoulder...and my thigh. My thigh had been a constant nuisance the whole round, though, thanks to my darling little wife.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the ice in front of me. The memory of that night with the gang flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t help but smirk. We’d gotten drunk, celebrating winning the round, and somehow, Anastasia had convinced me to get “mine” tattooed on my upper thigh…in her handwriting. She’d said she wanted us to have a reminder of the night she’d danced for me, straddling my thighs before I’d forced her to her knees.

In my extremely drunken state, it had seemed like a great idea.

She had laughed hysterically when she sobered up the next morning and saw it.

The joke was on her, though, because the tattoo had been in exchange for her eloping with me, and I was now a married man.

Now, the sting of the tattoo was just a further reminder of how I was wrapped around her little finger.

And that was definitely okay with me.

The puck dropped, and I was back in the game. Logan was flying down the ice, his eyes sharp and focused. He weaved through Denver’s defense, and I shot the puck toward him, my heart pounding.

“Fucking shoot!” I shouted, but he didn’t need my call. He saw the opening and took it, his stick slicing through the air. The puck soared past the goalie and into the net, the red light flashing.

“Fuck, yes!” I yelled, pumping my fist as the crowd erupted. Logan skated over, a huge grin on his face.

“Good job, Rookie,” Ari screamed, pounding on his back as he skated by.

“Let’s finish this, boys,” Lincoln growled, and I was pretty confident that meant game over. Daniels was going to get us the last one.

He’d never let Logan show him up.

We lined up for the faceoff, twenty seconds left on the clock.

Logan skated beside me, his eyes locked onto the puck. He took control as soon as it fell. Dancing around the defenders, he weaved in and out, finally passing it to Lincoln who was waiting right in front of the net. Lincoln did some crazy move and pushed the puck backwards toward the goal—never even facing it.

Denver’s goalie lunged, but it was too late, he hadn’t been expecting a shot like that.

The puck hit the back of the net, and the arena exploded. A second later the buzzer sounded.

We’d won. Victory!

Lincoln collapsed to the ice as we toppled onto him, celebrating the win.

“We’re going to the Cup! We’re going to the Cup!” the crowd chanted.

Logan grinned up at me from the giant pile of players. “Hell yeah, we are!”

I was emotional as I took in the moment, breathing deeply for a second before searching for Anastasia’s face in the stands. She was up against the glass, her hands clasped in front of her, and even from here I could see that her eyes were shining with pride and joy.

I skated over to the boards near her, leaning in close.

“What did you think, Mrs. James?” I called out, grinning like an idiot.

She rolled her eyes because I used every excuse to say her new last name at least a million times since I’d gotten her to marry me. “That was hot…” she began, leaning close to the glass and mouthing the next word. “Sir.”

Daddy, Sir, Love of her fucking life, they all made me feral. Everything about her did.

I turned back to my teammates, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I thought about what was next. I knew we could do it. We’d be celebrating like this again soon.

After we’d hoisted up the divisional championship trophy at the end of our award ceremony, I skated off the ice to grab my stuff from the locker room, wincing as I stretched my thigh to climb over the boards. Logan clapped me on the back. “That tattoo still feeling like a good idea?”

I grinned. “The dick one was always a good idea, Rookie.”

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