Page 11 of Pucking the Team

Fucking hell.

Even after all these years, he still knows how to get under my skin. How to make me doubt myself, my choices, my very identity.

I need a distraction. Something to take my mind off the bullshit, to remind me that I’m my own man, that I don’t need his approval or his blessing.

Normally, I’d call up one of my regulars, a puck bunny or a groupie who’s always down for a good time. But tonight, I find myself craving something different. Something new.

My mind drifts back to Emma, the way she looked at me with those big, brown eyes.

The way her lips curved into a smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

God, what I wouldn’t give to have her here right now, to lose myself in her softness and her warmth.

But she’s not an option. At least, not yet. I don’t have her number, and I’m not about to go stalking her at the office like some kind of creep.

No, I need to find my distraction elsewhere.

I grab my keys and my jacket, a smirk playing on my lips. “I’m heading out,” I call to Alex, who grunts in response, too engrossed in his game to care.

I step into the elevator, my reflection staring back at me from the mirrored walls. I look good, and I know it. The black leather jacket, the artfully tousled hair, the cocky grin that says I’m ready for action.

And action is exactly what I’m looking for tonight. The kind of action that comes with short skirts and low-cut tops, with too much tequila and not enough inhibitions.

I’m going to find a girl, a pretty little thing with a wild side and a talent for making me forget my own name. I’m going to take her back to my place, or maybe just fuck her in the back of my car.

I’m going to lose myself in the heat and the sweat and the pleasure, until there’s nothing left but the rush of release.

So what if a part of me wishes it was Emma beneath me, her nails digging into my back as I make her scream my name?

CHAPTER 5

EMMA

It’s still my first week, but I’m starting to settle into a routine. On Friday, I pore over last season’s game footage in the Blizzards’ sleek video room, jotting down timestamps of the juiciest moments to splice into a highlight reel. Chloe tasked me with whipping up some social media magic to stoke the fans’ anticipation for the upcoming season.

Hunched over the console, I’m in the zone, absorbed in my work.

Suddenly, the door swings open. Startled, I swivel in my chair to face the intruder.

My breath catches.

Framed in the doorway stands a devastatingly handsome man, a bit older and rougher around the edges than the baby-faced players. With cropped dark hair, a scruffy five o’clock shadow, and dazzling hazel eyes that narrow at me quizzically, he oozes rugged sex appeal.

A flicker of recognition tingles at the edges of my mind.

“You’re not Isaac,” the mystery man remarks, referencing the video coach. His deep voice carries a teasing lilt.

Heat rushes to my cheeks under his smoldering gaze. “Definitely not,” I quip with a smile, standing and extending my hand. “I’m Emma, the new social media manager.”

His large, warm hand engulfs mine in a firm handshake. I can’t help noticing his sculpted forearms.

“Ahh, you’re the one I keep hearing about,” he says with a knowing nod.

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? I’m already generating buzz? Hopefully good buzz...”

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You could say that.”

Now I’m dying to know what the guys are saying behind my back. Am I killing it or totally bombing?

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