Page 36 of Pucking Billionaire

Chapter 13

Mason

Iwake up to an excruciating headache. It’s sharper than the time I got hit with a puck that was traveling a hundred miles per hour. It also has a more nauseating pain texture than the time I got bashed on the head with a hockey stick.

Maybe someone slammed my head against the ice this time? Or maybe they’re doing it right now?

No. The foul taste of tequila on my breath brings back some of the events from last night.

Sophia challenged me to a drinking competition.

Wait. Sophia.

I blink open my eyes and ignore the hellish pounding in my temples. She’s here, wrapped all over me, like the most wonderful blanket in the history of blankets.

Oh, shit. It’s all coming back to me now, including the part where I fucked her… and how amazing that was.

Or did I dream that part?

I gently slide her off me and sneak a peek under the covers.

Yep. We definitely fucked for real. I must’ve passed out before it occurred to me to discard the condom because there it is, still on the bed.

I grab the condom and carefully slide out from under the covers. As soon as my bare feet touch the floor, I stagger into the bathroom and use half a bottle of mouthwash in an attempt to rid myself of the tequila taste.

It doesn’t help. Neither does brushing my teeth. Giving up, I shuffle over to the kitchen and chug my custom-made electrolyte drink, which consists of coconut water, green tea, and freshly squeezed kale juice.

The drink seems to help a bit. Now instead of feeling like I’m being murdered, I merely feel like I’m being tortured.

Then it hits me. I’ve just drunk the whole concoction. When Sophia wakes up, she’ll need electrolytes as much as I did, or maybe even more.

So, despite the headache, I force myself to make more of the drink. I even add some carrot juice for sweetness—Ladybug seems to have a sweet tooth.

Drink made, I decide to also fix us some breakfast. Eating helps when hungover, even if it’s often the last thing you want to do.

As I chop the veggies, I let myself process the disaster that was last night.

I slept with my team’s owner.

No. Worse.

I got her drunk and then slept with her—and the fact that I was drunk myself is not a good excuse. The woman loathes me when she’s sober, so she only slept with me because of the tequila. Worse yet, I wanted her before the drinking even began. I blame her big boobs. And that mischievous glint in her amber eyes. Not to mention?—

There’s a loud thud in the bedroom.

Fuck! She must have fallen.

I sprint over there for all I’m worth, cursing myself for leaving her alone in the first place.

To my huge relief, it’s not Ladybug’s body that’s on the floor. Instead, my mattress is.

“Sophia?” I look around, then check under the bed.

It’s like she’s vanished into thin air.

Then I hear water running in the bathroom.

Rushing over there, I knock.

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