Page 10 of My Pucking Crush

Pushing up the sleeves of his dark green waffle shirt, Luca exposes tats, and I scoff inwardly. This guy couldn’t be more different from my father.

I sit up and throw the covers aside, needing to take a wicked piss.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Luca approaches me.

Holding the bed rail, and looking to see what the hell I’m hooked up to, I say, “None of your business. You were told to post out in the hall.”

“No chairs out there.”

I laugh. Not so tough after all. But it’s a dick move to make a guy stand all night. “Take one of these.” I motion to the one with his coat.

It’s not the dark gray zip-up kind with the Crusher’s logo worn by our security team.

“You need the toilet?” he asks.

“I do.” I motion to the IV line attached to me. “Where the hell does this go?”

Here I am asking for help two seconds after trying tothrow him out.

“Hang on.” He strides toward me, his cologne wafting into my nostrils, sending my heart into a free fall. “Here’s the stand.”

With smooth precision, he unhooks a bag of clear liquid from the bedpost, and hangs it on the rolling stand. Then he finds the tube, following it to my arm. His hand brushes against my wrist. “Jeez, you’re ice cold.”

“Get used to it. I’m not a warm and fuzzy guy.”

“Neither am I. We’ll get along perfectly.” He unwinds the tube, freeing me from this damn bed.

Despite the saline drip, my sight goes hazy from the blow to my head and loss of blood.

Luca is there, with a hold that I recognize as a professional way to keep a dude steady.

“I got it.” I shrug away anyway and clench my stomach to make it to the damn bathroom without falling on my face.

SIX

Luca

Planted on one of the chairs, I close my eyes, imagining Max in the bathroom, holding his dick to piss. I assume, unless the dude sits. That would be a blow to my fantasies.

The bathroom door opens, and I shake those thoughts away. I caught how he reacted to me when I got close to him. The way his nostrils flared taking in my cologne would be a dead giveaway if he were gay. But he’s not.

Right?

All I want to smell on him is sweat and cum. Mine. All over his body as I run my tongue through it.

Despite looking wrecked, he’s still gorgeous with that mop of shiny chestnut hair that looks like someone held him down and fucked him into a cushy mattress.

Right now, I need to be professional and get him to trust me. Rely on me.

Max pauses outside the bathroom and says, “How about we make a deal. You leave here, and I don’t say anything.”

I stand to my full height, a few inches shorter than Max’s 6’4” build, but tall enough to send a message. “If this is a test of loyalty to my boss, it’s a pretty pathetic one.”

Max gives me the impression I can’t seduce him with kindness. If it’s a fight he wants, he’ll get one. And fuck, I like that.

“Look at me. I don’t need a bodyguard. I made a stupid mistake,” Max admits, slapping his chest. “Ifall Richmond has are hookers to lure me to hotel rooms, that’s an easy thing to avoid.”

“And they know that now,” I argue. “They’ll get more aggressive. Go on offensive. Oh right, you’re a defenseman.”

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