Page 7 of For Pucking Keeps

SIX

INTERLUDE

Trending Instagram post: (6 hours later)

@HockeyHomegurlHattiehere with all your pucking news! Ladies, ladies, ladies! Have you seen the picture trending from our trusty source of everything, hockey hotties? #sayitaintso If you’ve seen it then you’ve been weeping in your pillow like this girl right here. Team captain, @torrancebailey, our favorite center for the Seattle Vipers, is taken. It’s been years since we’ve seen a woman on this man’s arm, and I am shooketh. We all deemed him perpetually single. The man is a vault. Rumor has it via our bookstagram besties that the woman in the spotlight of my ire is none other than author @jazminnestarrauthor! The word on the street is that Starr cancelled a series of releases,left her fiancé and fled across the states to hide and lick her wounds. #factcheckingforafriend. I don’t know if it’s true, but your girl is here for the tea. Stop the presses, our boy is definitely slumming it with this one. Tor, you can do better. You’ve broken a lot of hearts. The bunnies are crying rivers, if the running mascara is any indication. Tell me what you think of the picture above in the comments. Let’s talk about it. @HockeyHomegurlHattie out. #dropsmic

Comments:

@surlypuckfan:Why you gotta body shame? I think she looks beautiful. So, what if @torrancebailey found someone to love. Good for him. #MindYourBusiness

@bouncybabe78:Absolutely heartbroken. #gutted Say it ain’t so indeed. Torrance Bailey is my dream man. Not hating on @jazminnestarrauthor though. Love her books. #Facts When hockey and books collide it’s the perfect marriage. Sad, but good for them.

@stickslave: @torrancebailey needs to focus on the cup. #stanleycupforthewin Hedoesn’t have time for wasting time on relationships. I mean, she isn’t model worthy. #rollypolly Sorry, not sorry.

@Mistyeyedbecky: I am #cryingariver! Marry me instead @torrancebailey @jazminnestarrauthor needs to fulfill her obligations to her readers. #Getthosebookswritten No offense. She needs to be in the writing cave and not chasing after hockey players. Is this for real?

@callmebunnyqueen:Shouting NO!!!*frowning face emoji*

@vipersgirl4life:I was there!! She was all over him. What a #desperatedamsel I can’t believe he even looked her way. @jazminnestarrauthor you don’t belong on the ice. #Booksareyourjam Leave the hockey players to the true fans. #NotforBIGgirls

@bookishwormstastic:It is true? @jazminnestarrauthor has been #MIA, and her readers are wondering when we are going to get her next bestseller. I support you Miss Starr, if that hockey God is your new muse. #Gowithit Your book tribe has your back. Don’t you all have better things to do with your lives? #GOreadAbook

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SEVEN

JAZ

The thump-thump-thump of my pulse through my eyelids sends a wave of nausea through me. Oh yeah, I hurt. I hurt bad. I raise my hand to my face, and I swear my fingers hurt as I try and fail to pry my eyes open. Is this crust or cement plastering my lids together? I drop my hand in defeat, giving up the fight until I can muster enough strength for my facial muscles to move. I groan, deep and guttural like a reanimated corpse when I realize it must be my mascara. I didn’t remove my make up last night. Well, shit.

Shifting my legs, my satin duvet caresses my bare skin and I give myself a mental pat on the back for at least getting my leggings off. But my celebration is short lived. I am still in everything else, including one of my shoes. How the hell did that happen? I roll overand lay on my back and let my saggy sack of bones settle into the mattress and contemplate my life choices. This is what happens when you drink after the age of twenty-seven. Okay, I left my twenties behind a few years ago, so that only makes the aftermath of my injection of liquid courage more devastating on my body. Go big or go home, my ass. I was a fool to think I could drink so many mojitos without it wrecking my body the next day. My mouth is dry, rum seeps from my pores, and did I mention the pounding, throbbing, pulsing spike of pain killing me slowly with every beat of my heart? I won’t attempt to lift my head from my pillow. It would be asking too much, too fast from myself, and I don’t have it in me.

I let the night before play behind my closed eyes and visions of Tor’s face come to mind. His neatly groomed beard, those beautiful hazel eyes with flecks of gold scattered throughout his irises, and those lips. Thank goodness I hadn’t made a fool of myself in that department. When I kiss those lips, I want to remember. Wait. There are not going to be any kisses between us. There will be no us. However, I do remember him agreeing to help me learn more about hockey. Wait, my drunken ramblings. Did I fall out of the car? I gave him my number.

“Oh God.” I groan, remembering my embarrassment. Damage control activated. I can keep thisprofessional. Right? I can’t deny the chemistry, it’s there, and I could feel it throughout the night. Even when Lia convinced me to stay, and we all sat down at the table together, I found his eyes on me more than once. I put on my author persona and wowed everyone around me with tales of the worlds I’ve weaved with my words for the past four years. Jazminne Starr, Jaz for short, is not shy. She is bold, confident, unapologetic, owns her sexuality, and is comfortable in her own skin. Writing about love and romance, giving her readers exactly the happily ever after they crave.

Alexis Rhodes, my real name, the real me, is the complete opposite. I hide behind my public persona, a recluse until I have donned my mask to go out into the world. I am a broken mess who ran away from the life I had built thousands of miles away to lick my wounds here in Seattle. It had been easy to introduce myself as Jaz Starr to my neighbor, Lia, and I never told her my real name. I wanted to be my alter ego all the time. So, I am embracing Jaz, giving myself a chance to start over. Well, to forget at least. The last thing I want is to fall into the trap of diving into a relationship that is unrealistic, no matter the attraction. I have been hurt enough. Alexis has taken too many blows. Jaz has books to write and fantasies to create. Jaz can be whoever she wants, do whatevershe wants, and I am fine with falling into that part of myself for a while.

My phone vibrates from somewhere beside me, followed by the heavy bass beat of Cardi B’sMoney.Fumbling and reaching blindly in the dark, I find my phone tangled in my sheets. Regretting the song choice for my ringtone, I grit my teeth and swallow back bile as another wave of nausea hits me hard. I answer, and almost wished I hadn’t.

“Alex, what the hell happened last night? You’ve gone viral overnight. Your reader’s group is buzzing with comments about your next book. Was this a publicity stunt you didn’t clue me in on? This is something you let your publisher/best friend know about. Jaz Starr is trending everywhere, and not all of it is positive, unfortunately. A hockey player, Alex!” Julia shouts down the line. Rolling my eyes would hurt too much, so I choose to move the phone away from my ear as her verbal bullets hit my eardrum, making me wince. For a moment her words don’t register as my brain attempts to catch up with what she’s saying and then the fog clears.

“Wait,” I croak out, wishing I had a glass of water. She continues to speak so fast my head is spinning as I jump up out of the bed, trip on my half-discarded clothes, only to sit on the edge of the bed again. Losing my balance and face planting will only add insult to injury. Hungover and clumsy, I hold my handup to stop her from talking. Like she could actually see me.

“Alex!” she shouts. “Are you listening to me?”

I place the call on speaker and set it next to me so I can rest my head in my hands. This is going to be a long conversation. Julia Marks, my best friend and owner of Wells Publishing, has been my support system for half my life. Hence, why she is calling me by my actual name. We’d been in love with books from the moment we picked up our first Dr. Seuss. When I began my journey as an author, I refused her help. We were friends first and I was adamant we stood on our own two feet. I wanted to earn my way and not take the leg up she was offering until I had written something worthy of a publishing company. Of course, she was starting her own journey as an independent publisher, so she was eager to take on new clients. It took her five years to get Wells Publishing off the ground and now she is highly sought after. She only signs the best of the best. It wasn’t until I’d written my first bestseller that I entertained accepting her help. Four years and seven successful books later, I’m one of her top authors.

“Jules, please. Shut up.” I cough and clear my throat. “I’m going to be sick if I move any faster here.” I groan. “What do you mean, I’ve gone viral?” I ask, but before she can respond, I remember theflash of the camera last night. The picture. The one Tor was so anxious about. “Shit.” I hang my head.

“No, shit. Shit,” she admonishes. “It’s a toss-up here, Alex. I want to fly to Seattle and strangle you for blindsiding me and high-five you for the mouthwatering hockey player you were clinging to.”

“I wasn’t clinging to Tor. He helped me up and I stumbled into his arms,” I retort defensively.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what actually happened. It’s what the world assumed happened that matters.” She curses under her breath, then continues. “Promise me you won’t look at social media today. Let me handle—” she goes silent, and all I can hear is the pounding of her fingers against the keyboard of her laptop.

I picture her sitting at her desk in New York, the morning light shining through her office windows. Coffee on her left, manuscripts piled high on her right, as she clicks anxiously at the keys. Her anxiety feeds my own, and all I want to do is see what she is seeing. You know when someone tells you not to do something, and damn if curiosity rears its ugly head, whispering in your ear to take a peek. There is no way I can promise not to look. I know I am going to be ripped apart by meaningless words that mean everything. Regardless of how much armor I don, the blows will both soothe and hurt at the same time. Especially comments from my readers. I’ve beenMIA for months. For personal reasons, but none of it matters when you have hungry fans eager for their next read.

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