Page 56 of The Pucking Wrong Man

The size of his cock made sure of that.

I honestly didn’t know how he fit it in his pants.

“So, how do you know Camden James?” Alena asked, sliding into the empty seat next to me. “Why didn’t you mention it during class?”

“Well, I—I don’t really know him.”

She snorted. “Come on, Ana. He had your freaking name on his chest. Those abs,” she said dreamily. “I’ll never forget them.”

I had the insane urge to claw her eyes out. That had been my name on his abs...that meant they were mine, right?

Ana, you’re being crazy.

“I guess I kind of know him,” I finally said.

She stared at me confused, a glint of jealousy in her gaze.

That was new. People weren’t really jealous of me...ever.

Maybe before my injury, when my instructors had praised me over and over again and hailed me as the next big thing...but not anymore.

I was saved from her interrogating me any further when the lights suddenly dimmed casting a shadow over the sea of spectators. An excited murmur rippled through the stands, quickly followed by an exhilarating cheer. I leaned forward in my seat, my eyes fixed on the ice.

A spotlight pierced the darkness, sweeping across the rink as the music crescendoed. The heavy, bass-laden beats vibrated through my chest, each thud syncing with my racing pulse. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, deep and resonant, filling every corner of the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer began, drawing out the words for maximum effect, “Welcome to tonight’s game! Please put your hands together for your very own DALLAS KNIGHTS…”

The roar of the fans was overwhelming, the noise almost deafening. The spotlight intensified, focusing on the entrance tunnel where the players would emerge. A thrill ran down my spine as the music shifted to a high-energy rock anthem, and the tunnel lit up with flashing lights. One by one, the players skated out, their names echoing through the arena.

“Number 13, Lincoln Daniels!” The crowd cheered as he glided onto the ice, raising his stick in acknowledgment. He made a heart sign at a woman sitting on the other side of the home bench, and their cheers grew even louder.

“Number 24, Ari Lancaster!” Another wave of applause followed Ari’s entrance. He was the other defenseman I’d read about. There’d been tons of articles about having Ari and Camden together when Camden was signed by the Knights last summer.

And yes, I’d done a lot of research today.

I kind of felt like a stalker.

Ari blew a kiss at a blonde woman sitting next to Lincoln’s girl.

My eyes never left the tunnel, anticipation growing with each name called. Finally, the moment I had been waiting for arrived.

“Number 63, Camden James!”

I found myself screaming along with the crowd as Camden skated out onto the ice, his powerful strides confident and commanding. The spotlight followed him, casting a dramatic glow on his figure. He raised his stick high, acknowledging the fans’ adoration, before he turned toward our section and pointed his stick at...me.

I was going to faint.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit!” Alena screamed, her dark-black hair whipping me in the face as she jumped up and down, grabbing onto my arm and almost pushing me into the next row.

I straightened up, blinking when I saw Camden was at the glass in front of us, staring up at me, his gaze concerned and frustrated.

“Are you alright, baby girl?” he mouthed, and I nodded in shock, feeling like everyone in the arena was now staring at me.

What was this life?

Alena’s hand was on my arm again, shaking me. She didn’t seem to have realized that she’d almost toppled me down the rows of seats—or she might have just not cared.

The players skated back toward their bench, Camden trailing behind them, still shooting me glances as he moved. I watched as he said something to a man wearing a Dallas Knights polo, seeming to gesture over to my section as he spoke to the guy.

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