Page 3 of For Pucking Keeps

“You coming out tonight?” Ridley asks as a text received chimes from his phone. He looks up at me. “Lia wants to come to the bar with us, so you know I have to make sure these assholes keep their hands to themselves,” he says absently, possibly answering his sister, or in Ridley’s case, his latest conquest.

I know for a fact Lia has no problem putting any of these players in their place. Ridley is just an overprotective big brother. It’s almost laughable because it’s Lia who does the protecting whenever we are out these days. Oh, how the tables have turned. . .she does more wrangling of him now.

Ridley had been in a long-term relationship with a famous musician, but when two people’s lives and worlds were polar opposites, one of them was bound to break. Brea walked away from him the day Ridley proposed marriage, and my best friend hasn’t been thesame since. In the end they both wanted different things, and Brea didn’t want to sacrifice her career to be with him. Two years later Ridley has a different woman almost every night.

Grabbing my bag I sling it over my shoulder, about to walk away. I stop and turn back to Ridley, who is still typing away on his phone. “I guess I can come out tonight. Lia might need help keeping bunnies at bay,” I say as I head toward the exit, mentally preparing myself for flashing lights of multiple cameras, and God knows what types of questions the reporters are going to throw at me tonight.

“Oh please, you say that as if you won’t have your own puck bunnies forming a line for your attention. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he says innocently, but we both know he will be anything but.

He’s not wrong, but I’ve managed to keep the bunnies at bay for years now. Fucking just to fuck doesn’t appeal to me. . .well, not anymore. There was a time when my face was plastered all over social media with my latest conquest clinging to me hopefully. That all ceased when I lost the most important person in my life. My life spiraled for a while, but with the help of my teammates, I found my way back. When I became team captain I cleaned up my image, hoping to lead by example. I need more in my life. After watching my best friend fall apart from his unravelling relationship with Brea, I need onehundred percent commitment from the person I will eventually share my life with. So, I can’t tell you the last time I got my dick wet. My hand and I are doing just fine, well, until I chanced a glance up into the stands earlier tonight. Fuck. I don’t think I have ever had such a visceral reaction to someone in my life and I couldn’t even see her face completely. I mean, how the hell is it even possible to feel something, a pull or connection to someone without getting a good look at them?

“Sure,” I reply with an eye roll and head out of the room. As soon as the door closes, I’m bombarded.

“Torrance!” one reporter shouts, waving his phone at me to get my attention.

“Torrance, how do you feel about the Vipers’ chances this year?” another reporter hollers from somewhere near the back. At six foot five I see the woman struggle to push her way through the thrum of taller male reporters and I make a mental note to answer her first.

“Torrance, are you afraid you will be traded if you don’t deliver this year?” A reporter right in front of me points his phone in my face, making me step back. The question catches me off guard and I can see the team’s communication manager fidget next to me as I fight back the scowl I want to direct at the reporter.

The shouts continue until I finally clear my throat, shifting my gaze to the left of the reporters where thefamilies of the players usually wait out of the way. I spot Lia easily; Ridley’s jersey looks like a dress on her petite form. She smiles, her curly brunette hair is wild and loose, making me smirk as she offers me two thumbs up. I offer her a nod in return, the gesture was small so not to pull the reporters attention in her direction, but I’m grateful for her little gesture of encouragement. I open my mouth to answer the barrage of questions, but I hesitate as I take in the goddess standing next to her.

I shift as I feel unsteady. My eyes lock with hers. Those eyes. God, brown, gray and green all at once. Not hazel like my own, no, it’s as if an artist couldn’t decide what color to choose, opting to leave her with two perfect ever-changing orbs. She is stunning, with plump red lips, and brown freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks. I clear my throat attempting to focus on the reporters.

“Tonight was important to the team. Winning our first game tonight is a great motivator. I am looking forward to the upcoming season and our chances. . .” I pause. My eyes wander over curves, so many curves, my cock twitches at the sight of her round hips, thick thighs, and the soft light brown skin of her stomach that peeks out from underneath the knot she tied in my jersey. Focus. “. . .our chances. . .” I’m completely distracted by the beautiful woman who’s caught more than my eye. “. . .I think the chances ofus getting through the playoffs and eventually to the Stanley Cup final are looking great. One game, one series at time, though,” I finally state, feeling as if I’ve climbed Mount Everest with the Herculean effort it took me to stay focused and answer one question.

I answer the next few questions effortlessly, keeping my eyes trained on the reporters as I continue to give calm, confident, and collected answers that have been drilled into me for moments like this. I can’t believe how discombobulated I feel in the presence of this mystery woman standing next to Lia. Just one look and she’s thrown me off my game. She’s trouble, and I don’t even know her name. I want to run in the opposite direction but also gather her up in my arms and ask her where she’s been all my life in one swift move. This woman is my own personal wrecking ball, and she doesn’t even know it.

I don’t remember the rest of my time with the press, my focus remained on her throughout, the silent conversation between two souls who’ve finally found each other. I don’t wait around for Rid and the rest of the team, I don’t stop to chat to Lia; I’m too flustered to approach due to my warring emotions. I know I won’t be able to avoid the eventual collision with the supernova who found her way into my orbit so suddenly. My ‘no drinking during the season’ rule suddenly comes under intense inner scrutiny because damn it, I want at least two or three drinks in mebefore I try to convince myself that I am not looking at the beginning of the end. Water will have to suffice though; I need to be stone cold sober to keep myself from falling into the deep end with a stranger. The scary part about all of this is that I am ready to welcome it—welcome her.

THREE

JAZ

“Witness the homo erectus thirstyus,” Lia narrates the scene in front of us in her best David Attenborough voice. Not going to lie, I am definitely impressed. “Latin for puck bunny or puck slut. As you can see”—she points toward the growing crowd, beer dangling between her fingers with her pinky pointed toward the ceiling perfectly, as if we were sitting in a tearoom with cups of tea in hand—“they hunt in packs in an attempt at symbiosis, attaching themselves to a male host and sucking away at their life force.” She laughs. “The relationship is completely parasitic?—”

My laugh is so loud I cut her off. I stop mid snort to look around, not wanting to gather too much attention to myself. I laugh so hard mystomach cramps and tears form in the corners of my eyes. “Homo erectus thirstyus.” I double over, slapping my thigh, my frozen mojito sloshes over the side of my glass and drips over my hand, making me curse. Sobering, because this requires all my concentration, I quickly bring my hand to my tongue and lap at the tangy goodies. I mean, no need to waste a tasty drink, especially one of my favorites. Okay, so maybe this is my third mojito since we arrived, but I’m enjoying this rare night out. Plus, after the heated exchange in front of the locker room only an hour ago, I need the liquid courage in case I run into hockey hotness personified. Torrance Bailey, number fifteen, center and captain of the Seattle Vipers, has me questioning my sanity. I haven’t uttered a word to the man, we haven’t been introduced, yet I feel like?—

Lia hands me a napkin from the bar we are leaning against, and I immediately clean up the rest of my spill.

“Watch BBC America, much?” I arch a brow in question, attempting to keep a straight face and failing miserably. I’m really enjoying hanging out with Lia, and it makes me miss my sisters terribly. I need to reach out to them and accept the dressing down I’m going to receive for being MIA for months. I guess I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so’. Nope. I will not think about my imploded life and the debris leftbehind in its wake. Tonight is all about fun and inspiration. Crossing my fingers on the inspiration part.

Lia shrugs and takes a sip of her beer. “That and loads of Animal Planet, but my observations aren’t wrong. These women are relentless. Like a pack of rabid hyenas.”

I can’t help the snort that escapes me as I imagine the six-inch heels, short bodycon dresses, and long extensions blowing in the breeze, their sound like a stampede against the packed earth as feral women take down a six-foot-six beast of a man in one go. I shake my head. The poor man of my imaginings never stood a chance as I blink away the vision and purse my lips. “Every sport has them,” I muse as I take in the bar and the groups of women gathered around the main entrance, followed by a flurry of raised voices.

“Let the show begin!” Lia shouts over the thumping bass as the glass doors part and the players enter the bar to a chorus of applause and shouts from fans. The Blue Line Bar is across the street from the arena. Easy access for the die-hard Viper fans to see their favorite players. If they can get in. This place is packed. Lia waltzed us in here like a local celebrity bypassing the line and marching us straight up to the bar. From what she’s told me it’s the only bar the Seattle Vipers congregate to after their home games. The owner is an ex-Seattle Viper player, Lawrence “Law” Hollis. He was injured two years ago when a puck struck his helmet. The accident made national news and was the first time I had paid attention to the mention of hockey at all. The replays of what happened to the man now wiping down his pristine glass bar were horrific and life changing. I can only imagine what it felt like to do what you loved one second and lose everything the next. Well, if I can’t shake the writer’s block, I just might. . .

I take a tentative sip of my frosty drink, keeping my eyes on the door as fine-ass men walk past the line of gawking woman who are literally wolf-whistling. Their eyes hungry, smiles wide, and tits pushed up to their throats to catch the attention of each and every hockey player who walks by. I mean, I’ve seen the catwalk-like runway videos of hockey players leaving the locker room dressed in suits that cling to every muscle and curve of their bodies, but nothing prepares me for seeing it up close.

I narrow my eyes, giving my drink the side eye. Did someone slip me a hallucinogenic? Because this drink has me wide-eyed and drooling. I am a sucker for a man in uniform, but a man in a well-tailored suit. . . My hoo-haa is waving a white flag and ready to give up on our months long dickless siege. I’m a romance author and the best description I can come up with to describe my vagina is hoo-haa. God help me, no wonder I am struggling to write. A wordsmith,I fear, I am not. I blame it on the A-A-A-A-A-Alcohol. Yep, I went there, Jamie Foxx called it.

“Jaz.” Lia leans in to get my attention, but I’m too enthralled by the men on parade in front of me in various states of suited and booted sexiness. Jackets off, shirts open at the neck, two-piece, three-piece suits, and wait, there are even some rolled up sleeves.Forearms are yummy.

“Jaz, you’re going to need a bib if you don’t close your mouth and stop drooling all over the floor.” Lia taps my chin and my mouth snaps to attention, closing as I try to pull myself together. The last thing I want to do is appear as desperate as the women in front of us. I’m far from it. I don’t have the time, the heart space, or anything else to give in relation to chasing the opposite sex. But I do have eyes. Damn.

Clearing my throat, I adjust my stance and lean back against the bar once more. I hadn’t realized I’d taken a step forward. Yep, definitely blaming that on the mojito.“Well, I don’t want to cause an accident from my pooling saliva,” I joke, wiping the corners of my mouth, making Lia laugh.

“Hey, I get it. I’m immune to the spectacle that is my brother and his teammates. But to the unsuspecting newcomer, it’s a bit much.” She thrusts her arm out at me and lifts her brow, suggesting that yes, I am the newcomer in question. I watch as the players move around the bar, some take up residence innearby corner booths while others seem to gravitate toward their wives and girlfriends.

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