Page 26 of My Pucking Crush

The alarm chirps, and when I spin around, Luca is there with his fob. He hustles to walk ahead and opens the back door for me like I’m a Kardashian. Being driven around, and all this white-glove treatment, is not my brand.

“I’m tired of this shit.” I yank on the passenger door and pop into the shot-gun seat.

In the side mirror, I watch Luca slam the back door and with a sexy-as-fuck gait, stride to the driver’s side.

We drive in silence, and I let go of an exhale. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Luca asks, not facing me.

“For not forcing me to sit back there so my guys don’t see me being treated like a diva.”

A few players got into their expensive sports cars, some likely heading to O’Malleys. I didn’t even bother mentioning it to Luca, who undoubtedly would have said ‘no’ to going out. I’m too tired to party anyway.

With a rare weekend off, I plan to rest up. That means locking myself in my penthouse, only leaving for the practice facility’s training rooms.

When we reach a light, Luca’s gaze cuts to mine and he finally responds to my tantrum. “I know what to argue for and when to give a client space,” he says smoothly. “Don’t ever think you’re getting away with something or that I’ll give in if you wear me down.”

Wear me down...What a mouthful. And now I’m thinking of his mouth.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

“I saw you looking up into the stands during the game. What were you looking at?” I ask, staring straight ahead.

“The crowd.”

“Obviously.” I shake my head. “Did you see something in the mezzanine level? You got on your radio and looked stressed out.”

Luca yanks this tank of an SUV over two lanes, forcing me to grab hold of the ‘oh shit’ handle. The car behind us swerves. The driver lays on his horn, giving us the finger as they pass.

“What the hell?” I ask, loosening my grip on the handrest. I think it will have a permanent indentation of my fingerprints.

“You donotlet anyone see youwatchme,” he seethes.

“Why?”

“If this is an ongoing threat and Richmond is plotting another move, they are watching everything.Testingeverything. To see what I’ll do. To see what you’ll do. If you took your eyes off the game to watch me, they just figured out distracting me distracts you, and that’s when they’ll strike.” He speaks with chilling confidence about the behavior of people who want to hurt me.

I shake my head, still needing answers. “Who got pulled out of the seat?”

Luca swears under his breath. “I don’t know. Stupid police let him go without getting a name before I had a chance to check him out.”

That doesn’t surprise me. “What was the guy doing?”

“Filming you. From what I saw.” Luca gets a good stare going on me, and I feel his gaze heating my skin.

“That’s it?” I ask, pulling at my tie.

“A guy in a suit, that high up, no jersey, no merch, no beer, filming you, right after you got attacked?”

I frown at the implication. “Why film me? The game is fucking broadcasted on live television!”

“Proof he was there.” Luca squeezes the steering wheel. “Typical contract hit behavior.”

The wordhittwists my stomach. “Hit, as in killing me? One of the Russian guys had a knife that night. He could have stabbed me, but he didn’t. What the hell is going on?” As I beg for more details, I remember I grabbed their hockey stick. Inmyhands, that too is a lethal weapon.

The Russian may have just pulled the knife to defend himself.

“There’s been no communication from Richmond, no verbal or written threats. But I have you covered off the ice. That’s all that matters.”

---