Page 7 of Good Pucking Luck

“I was never a member of a chess club, andyouplay?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“Damn it. Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

I wave off his concern. Now that he’s relaxed a little, he’s not as grumpy anymore. “No worries. I’m giving you shit, but back to the previous topic, what’s made you decide to become a slut?”

“You don’t think I can do it, do you? I totally could. I could have all the no-strings-attached sex I want. Like a whole lot of sex.”

This strange, intriguing man makes me chuckle again. He’s good at it, and somehow, I don’t think that’s something he realizes about himself. I don’t know what has me feeling that way, but sometimes you can just tell with people. And I’m enjoying him even more because there’s zero recognition in his gaze that he’s talking to Rylan Pierce. It’s not as if that never happens. Not everyone is into hockey, but being recognized happens more than I’d like, and as much as I enjoy the spotlight and love the sport, sometimes I just want tobewith someone new. “I’m not doubting your ability to have a whole lot of sex. All the no-strings-attached sex you want. Hell, I’d have some of that sex with you if you wanted.”

The words are meant playfully. Would I hook up with this guy? Fuck yes, but I said that mainly because he seems to think I doubt him, and, well, also because he already had my cock twitching earlier, so I continue on that path.

But when my little sex fiend’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his head, his mouth dropping open like he can’t imagine how I would say something like that to him, I’m glad I let the words out. And the building pressure in my balls proves I mean them.

“Shut up.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I’m not sad. I’m angry. And frustrated that I’ve never really just let go and had fun. I want to experience all that life has to offer without it having to be something serious.”

Shit. So apparently this guy doesn’t see himself clearly, doesn’t see how intriguing or good-looking he is. I don’t know what he’s angry about, but his firm tone says he’s serious aboutthis. “I’m not lying. You’re hot. And I hope that enjoying sex is also on your list of reasons.”

“I’m hopefully optimistic that my past experiences were more because of the other guys and not me.”

“Sounds like you’re choosing the wrong guys. You’re way too fun to be bad in the sack.”

He studies me again, something I’m realizing he does when I give him a compliment, like he’s searching for something or waiting for a punchline. Whoever this guy has dated must have done a number on him.

“I’ll tell you what…you can refill my water, and then I’m just going to sit here and finish my drink. If when I’m done you decide you want to go somewhere and hook up tonight, you let me know. I hate to say this, but it has to be soon. I can’t be out late. But if you’re not interested, no harm, no foul. You just let me walk out of this bar, and we never have to see each other again.”

Well, unless I see him next time we’re playing in Seattle, but I don’t mention that.

“Deal?” I ask.

“Deal,” he replies.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hayes

Ican’t stopfeeling that I’m getting punked. If I tell this guy yes, will someone jump out from behind some barstools, hoping to catch a member of the Jilted Exes’ Club in action? Will this end up online, and I’ll just be giving the world another reason to laugh at me?

I finish cleaning up behind the bar and look at the gigantic hottie. He’s tall and broad, with short, black hair that’s messier than I ever let mine get. He’s got blue eyes, dark scruff along his jaw, and I’m pretty sure if you look upmischievous smile, a photo of him will appear. And he might be pictured undermusculartoo. Seriously, how does someone have such a nice body? Does he spend every moment in the gym and never eat anything delicious like chocolate cake or pizza?

He notices me looking and gives me a grin and a wink, which really should be cheesier than it is. Why is it that hot guys can get away with nearly anything without looking dumb?

I don’t see any recognition in his eyes. It’s not as if I get spotted on the street daily and everyone knows who I am. The incident at LAX earlier, well, that was the first time that’s happened, so I can’t figure out what game this guy could be playing at other than taking advantage of an easy orgasm.

“Are you married?” I ask.

He blanches. “What? No. I’m not an asshole. I wouldn’t be hitting on you if I had a partner.”

“Not everyone is like that.”

“Well, I am. Being in a relationship is the absolute last thing I want. I’m just looking to have fun.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that just a couple of hours ago, I decided the same thing for myself. I’ve never had a time in my life where I just hooked up and had no-strings-attached sex. Sure, I’d slept with two guys before Malcolm, once with each, but that was after a couple of dates when I thought there might be a chance of a future with them.

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