Page 9 of For Pucking Keeps

“Since I met a certain romance author named Jazminne Starr.” He turns his attention back to me. “Tor, I’m obsessed. I started one of her books last night, and I shit you not, I couldn’t put it down. My dick was so hard, I think I broke it. The romance, no, this was more, it was porn on a page. But it wasn’t like the crap you watch on the internet. There was some serious storyline mixed in with some of the hottest sex scenes I’ve ever read. I’ve never read anything like it in my life. If they offered that up for academic reading, I’d have been a genius. When I tell you I am hooked, I am hooked.” He turns on the treadmill and starts to jog as he continues to speak.

“I was up much later than I intended. You know, I need my beauty sleep. But, Tor, I think I found my new hobby. Puck bunnies. . .who needs puck bunnies when you have smut to read? I may just manage to stay out of trouble this season— Oh shit. Do you think she can sign a book for me? I need to thank her. I’m fucking jealous, you lucky, lucky man. If she can write scenes like that, then I don’t want to think what she can?—”

“Stop. You don’t get to imagine or think twice about what she can or can’t do in the bedroom,” I say through gritted teeth, only to stop myself from saying more. Where the hell did the alpha possessiveness come from? She isn’t mine.

He throws his head back and laughs. “I’m just saying. Don’t worry, Tor, she only had you in her sights,” he says as he picks up the pace and starts to sprint.

I don’t know how to respond to anything he’s said. Is he serious? The last thing I want to think about is Dev whacking off all night to a book. Especially one of Jaz’s books. Maybe I should check out her writing myself. Or maybe not. In fact, that sounds like the last thing I need to do. Professional distance, Tor. “For the record, Jaz is not my girl. I just met the woman last night,” I say firmly. There, I shut all thoughts of the possibility of us down real quick.

Bast coughs. “Well, according to the bunny blogs, you two are the new couple to watch.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, making a few guys around us laugh along with him. I shoot him a glare as well as the others and Bast just shrugs it off and turns his attention back to his stretches.

“Well, we’re not. I offered to help her learn more about hockey since she’s writing a hockey romance, that is it,” I say loud enough for Devan, Bast, and whoever else is eavesdropping to hear. “I got thepicture taken down and eventually it will all blow over.” If I tell myself that over and over again, I will believe it. I stop the treadmill, grab my water bottle and step down.

“Tor, we all saw the way you eye fucked the woman last night. She had your full attention,” Ridley says as he approaches one of the yoga mats next to Bast and sits down. I guess he wasn’t as oblivious to our conversation as I thought.

Unsure how to reply, because I know for damn sure I’m not going to admit the truth of his words. I frown at my best friend, but Ridley smirks back in return. He knows me so well, we don’t need to speak my admission out loud. He already knows. I am absolutely going to do the wrong thing when it comes to Jazminne Starr. As much as I want to fight it, I know that it’s only a matter of time before I break. My only solace, I have the next three away games to build up my defenses against my Supernova before she wrecks me permanently.

I leave the team gym to the sounds of my teammates’ chuckles, but don’t miss Devan’s taunts as I turn the corner. “You’re so gone already, Tor.”

I want to deny it, but how can I deny the truth? One look at her and I was gone.

“Bailey!” I visibly flinch hearing my name from Coach Lennox’s mouth.

I swear the man doesn’t know how not to shout. I should be used to it by now. All of my teammates joke about the yelling all the time. We are all in a constant state of questioning whether we’ve done something wrong or not. Honestly, I know it’s his way of keeping us on our toes; disarming us while getting a kick out of it at the same time. I consider him as a growly dad figure, yet for some of us who didn’t grow up with a father in our lives. . .it’s not easy. I respect him.

He has been my head coach for as long as I’ve been with the Vipers, so when he talks, I listen. But today, for once, I am not looking forward to the conversation I thought I was sneaking out of the building trying to avoid. I turn to face him, car keys in hand, and check my watch. I still have six hours before we board the team jet to Vancouver, so I am desperate for my pillow after this morning’s workout and a session with Charlie, one of the team’s physical therapists. After last night, I need to close my eyes and catch up on some much-needed sleep.

I watch him approach, his facial expression unreadable, leaving me hanging until he reveals whether he’s pissed or happy to see me. The man has a serious poker face and gives nothing away. He stands a few inches shorter than me, wearing hissignature Vipers team polo and black slacks. His hair is just starting to gray at the temples, his olive skin is smooth, ageless, and you can’t tell the man is pushing his mid-fifties, he still hits the gym just as hard as we do. Harley Lennox was a legend in his time. He played center, like me, for almost twenty years for the New York Wardens. He hadn't been retired long before he was approached by the Vipers to take over as head coach. I’ve been playing for him from the beginning.

Pocketing my keys, I fold my arms over my chest, feeling more like a child than the team captain. “Yeah, coach,” I finally reply as he turns his observant gaze on me, giving me a once over, then sighs.

“Let’s get right to it then, Bailey. I woke up to a shit storm this morning, and to my surprise, it was you at the heart of it. Care to explain?” He mirrors my stance and tilts his head, awaiting my explanation.

“Parker and my team took care of it. I’m sure he’s already been in touch with our in-house team. It was a photo taken out of context. It’s been removed and will eventually blow over. Nothing to worry about.” I wave my hand in the air, brushing it off.

“If you say so,” he says dubiously. “This is not the season to get distracted, Tor.” He emits another long sigh as he swipes a hand down his face. If I had a dollar for every time this poor man sighed from our antics I would be a billionaire. I stand straighter,concerned, because he never calls me Torrance or Tor, I’m always just Bailey. “I need you to take the team forward. I know your personal life is none of my business, but this team is. So, I’m going to ask you now.” He looks me in the eye then and continues. “Is this going to be a problem going forward? I don’t need you out there with a woman and various bunnies hanging off you like Ridley. You are the pillar of this team, Tor.”

“One hundred percent, coach. I leave it all on the ice, always. I barely know the woman; first time I met her was last night. She’s Ridley’s sister, Lia’s, neighbor, and she went to her first hockey game last night. Yes, she is an author, and I did offer my help because she is writing about hockey. Strictly professional. Nothing more,” I say, hoping what I am saying is enough to convince him. My words feel like lies on my tongue because there is a possibility Jaz and I will be more. But what I know for certain is that it will not interfere with my performance on the ice.

“Good. I don’t see anything wrong with what you’ve said. I know how the press twist words and manipulate the narrative to their benefit. I don’t want you getting wrapped up any unnecessary scandals because of it,” he replies.

“Understandable.” I nod. There is nothing else to say, so I don’t offer anymore reassurance.

He pats my shoulder and turns to leave. “Okay,good talk. Go home and get some sleep. You look like shit. See ya on the plane.”

I watch him walk away, feeling slightly better now that I’ve made it clear to him and to myself where I stand with Jaz. Now, I just need to make sure I don’t cross the line I’ve drawn in the proverbial sand.

My phone chimes in my back pocket, making me groan at the prospect of having to deal with anything else. Exiting the arena doors, I hurry over to my SUV and pull my keys from my pocket, along with my phone, and open the door. Sliding into my seat, the phone chimes again as it goes flying into my passenger seat. I lean over and read the screen. I smile. My first genuine smile for the day. I should be surprised by my reaction to the name I put her under in my phone, but it feels natural, right. Red flag? Oh, I am sure of it.When I dropped her off last night, I typed my number into her phone, unsure if she would even use it. Especially with all the negative press aimed at her when she opened those beautiful multi-colored eyes this morning. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to see— No, Tor.

SUPERNOVA: Thank you.

ME: For?

SUPERNOVA: You trying to get me to say more, Mr. Bailey? You know what for.

ME: Maybe. Are you biting?

SUPERNOVA: You sure you want to associate with the likes of me? #badforyourimage

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