Page 1 of Pucking Vamps

Chapter 1

Hayden

I down another gin and cola, the buzz barely there. This is probably a bad idea considering I have early practice and morning lectures tomorrow, but I’ve also had a shit day, so I couldn’t care less.

“Yo, Hayden, slow down with that maybe?” Nick yaps over a laugh, swatting me on the back. He’s still in his training jersey like me and the rest of the guys from the hockey team who joined us for a night out in the middle of the week.

Genius idea, I know. I have my moments.

I shoot Nick a hard look, raising my eyebrow pointedly. “Terry is paying. If I don’t get wasted tonight, who knows when I’ll have another chance?”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me Coach got to you? You know he has his power trip days. Bet his wife didn’t put out last night, so he decided to take it out on you and Jimmy.”

I aim a glance our goalie’s way. Unlike me, Jimmy looks like he’s having the time of his life as he raises a glass, shouts something to the four others at our table, and dunks whatever they’ve mixed for him in one go. I don’t envy the headache he’s going to have in the morning, but then again, at least he’s not currently feeling like the biggest loser in the world.

“My shot was not that bad. It’s not my fault Bryan got lucky and caught it,” I mumble, squeezing my now empty glass with both hands.

“Exactly!” Nick agrees enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear. “So, stop being salty and let’s go find ourselves some company for the night. What do you say?”

I study his chiseled face for a moment. He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his lips suggestively, totally overplaying it in the seduction attempt. Not that it would work on me anyway. He’s objectively good-looking with his intense blue eyes and unruly blond mop of hair—pretty much everyone on the team is, actually; we all look like models plucked out of a magazine when we try—but he’s so not my type. He’s taller and more muscular than me, and that’s a little intimidating. It makes me feel like I have to compensate for something I have no control over. I blame my poor dating experience for that.

In my twenty-two years of life, I’ve had no one serious. I did try, once or twice, but my background and current financial circumstances make things a little complicated, even if I’m positively irresistible with my tan complexion, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. So yeah, money is another reason why I’m so on edge after practice. I’ve never had much of it, and making it big at the sport I love more than anything in the world has been my dream since I was a kid.

“I can’t believe Coach threatened my scholarship! Bad days happen to everyone. What, does he think I’m immune to them or something?” I scoff, putting my glass back on the table. “Asshat.”

Nick shoves me toward the venue’s dance floor. “Don’t sweat it, man. Seriously. He’s not an idiot. You are one of our best forwards. He won’t cut you loose.”

I suppose my friend is right. I’m one of the best players on the college team and Coach cares too much about his reputation to miss out on the chance to capitalize on me when I get scouted by some pro team. Then there’s also the entry draft. But that doesn’t make it any easier not to feel annoyed. Between practice for the charity showcase match in three months and making sure my GPA doesn’t go below what’s required for the scholarship, I’m really stretched thin.

All the more reason why I need to blow off some steam tonight.

Taking a deep breath, I flick my hair off my face and let Nick drag me to a group of girls in short skirts and crop tops. Their eyes are on us the moment we approach, gleaming and hungry. They definitely like what they see, and I don’t blame them—muscles and alpha energy are always popular.

We dance for a while, and a few of the girls even grind against me, but for some reason I’m not really feeling it. I like sex, especially the casual type, where there are no expectations or drama. Where my heart is not part of the equation, and I’m not wondering if the other person will find me worthy enough to keep around.

“You okay there, handsome?” the girl with the nose piercing and the glitter sprinkled on her cute face asks, throwing her arms around my neck.

I close my eyes and soak up the contact, my remaining senses focused on it as the music and her next words mellow out to a muffled buzz. Yeah, this is nice. Pleasant. Calming… At first. But then something worms its way past my enjoyment, ruining the lull. It’s like a sudden gust of cold wind in the middle of a hot July night that caresses my skin with its icy fingers. It envelops me like a shadowy mist, coiling tighter and tighter around me until it’s the only thing I can feel.

Until I am at its mercy.

Shivers race down my back as I fight to keep breathing. My heart tries to jump out of my chest. Hot anticipation and cold fear mix within me. I snap my eyes open. The girl I’m dancing with is still droning on about something, unaware we’re being watched. Because that’s what this is: someone is watching me, their presence tangible and imposing as if it is part of the physical world.

My dick gives a twitch. Fuck. I kind of like it. The predatory tinge the presence has is just strong enough to intrigue me without coming across as threatening. It’s almost inviting even, as if gauging me out. As if assessing if I will take the bait.

Will I? I already have a girl for the night if I decide I want her, so it’s not like I need someone else.

Except that I’ve already forgotten all about my companion, my mind laser-focused on that imposing sensation of someone watching me. It feels good. To be noticed among a hundred others. To be riled up in this way.

I look around in search of the source that’s making me nervous in the best way but come up short. The crowd is too thick, and the music is too loud to allow me to concentrate on my sudden priority.

I can’t have that.

With a half-assed excuse, I brush past the girl, headed for the stairs leading to the VIP seating area and the balcony. Goosebumps erupt all over me as the presence follows me, stalking me without making its move. It teases me with its featherlight touches, grazing my ears, my cheeks, my lips, my collarbone peeking out from under my jersey. I shudder, not sure whether to feel turned on, scared of how real it feels, or both. For all I know, I’m just imagining this, high on agitation and the smell of sweat and alcohol around me.

I hope I’m not as the preamble—the foreplay—to whatever this might be is too fucking enticing to end up a figment of my horny imagination. There is a strange pull to it, a skin-tingling alure that I simply don’t want to resist.

Once at the stairs where I have a better view of the venue, I scope the hundreds of faces. No one is paying me any attention, yet I still feel like I’m in someone’s crosshairs. Their target for the night.

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