Page 33 of One Pucking Wish

The memory of Gunner's smell floods my olfactory, pushing away my precious pumpkins.

“No,” I protest with a huff of my nose as if the motion is going to push away the scent. Nostrils toward the candle, I inhale deep until I’m back to smelling only perfectly delectable hints of autumn manufactured with chemicals by a scientist in a lab as nature intended it. “That’s better.”

I return the unlit candle to its home on my nightstand and fall face-first onto my bed. The plush duvet cover with its appropriate thread count feels amazing against my skin. Frank and Alice are great people and obviously did us a huge favor, but in retrospect, their motel, even a room that wasn’t a storage closet, would be a two-star on a good day.

Closing my eyes, I all but melt into my pillow-top mattress. My limbs feel boneless, and I’m ready to sleep until tomorrow when I go with the team to Florida for their game against Tampa Bay.

My thoughts go to the past several days and all they entailed. My mind replays everything from the death-defying Uber ride to the stale donuts and hunger pains to my time locked up in that room with the grumpy goalie, and while he was still as moody as ever, I saw a whole different side of his mood—a passionate, sensual, completely gratifying side. My visions, a mere fraction compared to the real thing, cause my skin to pebble and my heart to race.

“No!” I wiggle beneath the covers and pull them up to my chin. Head against my pillow, I clamp my eyes shut and force my traitorous brain to think of something else.

It only makes sense that I would need a minute to decompress. The past several days don’t even feel as if it happened in this world or lifetime. It doesn’t seem real because prior to Vancouver, there would’ve never been a time when I would’ve slept with Gunner, let alone that many times. More alarming yet is the fact that I enjoyed his company for more than the intimate stuff. Vancouver was this inexplicable twilight zone. While it was obviously real and not some dream, it wasn’t me…nor was it him. That’s not us, not who we are or what we do—together. We don’t have toe-curling sex, converse like two people who get along, and we especially don’t make out like teenagers or cuddle.

I just need some time to regulate back into reality, and it will all go back to normal. It’s already starting to. I think back to Gunner on the plane. He wasn’t the same guy I shared a bed with for three nights, but at the same time, he wasn’t his dickish self either. Perhaps we both need time to come out of the snowed-in, lust-filled fog.

My phone chimes at that moment right before sleep pulls me under. I choose to ignore it, and my eyes remain closed. It dings again.

Please stop.

And again.

With a groan, I emerge from my comfy cocoon to silence my phone. Leaving the ringer on was a rookie move, something I never do when I sleep, for good reason. I put the oversight off to utter exhaustion. Despite my better judgment, I check the notification. It’s from Iris, and she’s informing me that she’s here. At my front door.

Open up!

She texts again.

I release a groan. Please go away.

Even as the plea resonates in my mind, I’m throwing the blanket off my body and sitting up because if I know anything about Iris, I know she will not go away. The girl is tenacious, and I suppose one has to be in order to be my friend. I’m not the easiest girl to get close to. A woman with less resolve than Iris would’ve chalked me up to a lost cause by now, but she keeps showing up… and I love her for it.

With a heavy frown, I open my front door to a wide-smiled Iris.

She shakes her head with a tsk. “Did you think I would leave you to your own devices today after you spent three days alone with Gunner? I just saw him at practice with the team, and he’s looking rough.” She shoves a cup of Starbucks coffee into my hand. “That’s the last one, by the way,” she says before stepping inside.

Her words register. “What?” I gasp, looking down at the cup in my hand.

She shrugs. “Yep, that’s the last of her mix until pumpkin spiced lattes come back in August.”

I can’t believe Iris’s coffee shop friend didn’t stash away more PSL mix. What was she thinking? It’s only February, and now I have to wait almost six months. Panic rises, and I recall all the dupe recipes I’ve tried in the past. A few of them were decent, so I suppose they could work, but none of them were the real deal.

Iris steps in front of me, her face an inch from mine. “Earth to Penny. Did you hear me?”

I blink. “Huh?”

She laughs. “I knew it. Something happened. Gunner looks slow out on the ice, and you can’t even answer a simple question. I want to know everything.”

Following her into the living room, I take a sip of my coffee. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear your question. I’m in shock over the fact that this is my last PSL of the season.”

“You’ll live.” She grins and plops down on my sofa. “Just think, you got over two more months than everyone else. It’s all about perspective, Pen.”

I sit at the other end of the couch and turn to face her. “I still think it’s stupid they don’t offer it year-round.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s a tragedy. Now give me details. What happened in Vancouver? I swear I texted you a hundred times, and you didn’t respond. The storm was so horrible we had to leave you there or risk getting stuck ourselves, and then you go radio silent. I didn’t know for a whole day whether you found shelter. I was worried sick.”

Taking another sip of coffee, I will the caffeine to bring me back to life. “Well, there’s not much to tell. The first night was spent trying to find somewhere to stay, and once we found a place, the reception was horrible. Half of my texts and messages didn’t load until we were back in the city at the airport days later. I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I got ahold of the ladies in the office and figured they could relay the message to the team—that we were snowed in and would get back as soon as we could.”

“Well, they did. But that’s like zero real information, Penny. I need to know the juicy details.”

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