Page 21 of My Pucking Crush

On skates...

TWELVE

Luca

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

Too many instincts roared to life at once watching Max collide with Miles Hayden so hard he flipped into the air before falling flat on the ice.

Max isn’t in danger here, so I took a moment to get fitted with skates after arriving at the practice arena. I planned to get in his face on the ice. That’s where he seems to want to be all the time. I need to berate him for leaving me in his house. Prove to him that I’m not fucking around.

This is my job he’s messing with.

I’m strong enough to take on any opponent who will dare to touch him.

“What the fuck?” Max bites out, currently on his back, moaning in pain.

But a second later, he’s on his feet. Hockey players are known for looking dead on the ice one second and skating away like nothing happened the next. A shadow covers me from his height. Those skates and blades add around five inches to this already mammoth of man.

Anger teeming off him, he wipes the ice chips from his face, some already melted down his chin. They take on a pearly hue, and I swear, it looks like cum.

God, I want my cum dripping down his chin.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

It’s never going to happen.

“Ryan...” One of the trainers pushes me aside. “What the hell is the matter with you today?”

Max, staring at me, spins the trainer around in my direction. “Is there a problem, Sheppard?”

“There sure is,” I answer to get out front. “This tough guy’s not happy about having a bodyguard. It’s clearly affecting his focus.”

“How dare you—” Max roars.

“Ryan!” Coach Beck hikes over wearing ice cleats that he and the rest of us wear during games.

I’m the show-off who wanted to be on blades.

Beck sends the trainer back to the bench and signals me and Max to follow him.

In his office, Beck slams the door. “Max, get a hold of yourself. It’s a bodyguard. We’re not asking you to give the guy a kidney. What’s the matter with you?”

Max slides me a look. “Nothing, Coach.”

It’s the heat between us when no one’s around that’s the real problem. The fire he’s trying to smother.

“I heard he left the apartment without you.” Beck turns to me in an accusatory tone.

“Guilty. It was my first night in a new place. My phone died in the middle of the night and I didn’t get up in time.”

Beck turns his gaze to Max. “And you just let him sleep? You left your apartment—”

“I was safe in my car,” Max argues.

“Is it bulletproof?” Beck asks.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Max’s cheeks blaze in a rosy shade, and steam looks ready to float out of his ears.

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