Page 71 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

“Hypothetically.”

Ryan’s brow furrows, confusion playing across his face. “You’re worried if you’re good enough? Dude, you’re literallyBlizzards star athlete. People chant your name in packed arenas.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” My hand rubs the back of my neck, as I stare at the wall like it’s personally offended me. “I mean ... compared to someone else. Someone like Jake.”

Ryan blinks, clearly trying to process this unexpected shift in conversation. “Jake Roland? That Hollywood pretty boy? Why are we talking about him?”

The question hangs there for a moment, heavier than expected. “Just answer the question, man. Who do you think—who’s more appealing? Him or me?”

Ryan squints like I’ve grown a second head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Dead serious.”

Ryan hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. “Okay, uh ... I mean, Jake’s got that whole ‘I’m-an-actor-I-sell-my-face-for-a-living’ thing going on, and some women are into that, I guess. But you? You’re ... you know,you.” He gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything.

My frown deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan scratches the back of his head, looking more awkward by the second. I know he’s wondering why he’s even bothering to put up with this. “Look, man, you’re intense. Brooding. But that’s part of the appeal. You’re real. You’re not out there posing for cameras or pretending to be someone you’re not. Some women like that. Women who don’t want the shiny, fake stuff.”

The words sink in slowly, but they don’t bring much comfort. “So, you’re saying it’s just a matter of taste?”

Ryan shrugs. “Pretty much. Besides, you can’t compare yourself to guys like Jake. He’s got his lane, you’ve got yours. But—” he pauses, voice softening, “what are we talking about here?”

“Holly went to see Jake yesterday. He’s her ex.”

Ryan’s eye twitches. “And you’re jealous because you’ve got something for her?”

“I never said that.” I shift in my seat.

He chuckles. “If we’re talking about Holly going to see her ex, then it’s not about who’s more appealing. It’s about trust.”

There’s a weight to Ryan’s words, the kind that cuts through the noise in my head. Trust. The one thing I’ve not been giving Holly. Instead, the jealousy’s been gnawing, turning everything into a competition no one signed up for.

Staying silent for a while, chewing on my friend’s advice gives me some perspective, and then, finally, I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Ryan grins, patting me on the shoulder. “Of course, I’m right. I’m always right.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” A hint of a smile spreads across my lips. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime,” Ryan says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Now, go apologize to the woman who’s got you twisted up like this. The appeal of silent, brooding mystery men wears off after time. Women also like honesty. Trust me.”

With that, Ryan saunters off, leaving me standing in the locker room, the gears in my head turning. There’s a decision that needs making, and the only way to fix this mess is to swallow my damn pride and just talk to Holly.

By the timethe front door clicks shut behind me, the tension’s still there, coiled tight in my chest. But it’s quieter now. Manageable.

The house is warm, filled with that familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla candles Holly loves to light up every timethe temperature drops below 50. It’s comforting, in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand, but I’m learning to accept it.

The sound of her soft footsteps draws me toward the living room, and there she is—curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a book in her hands. Her expression softens when she sees me, but there’s something there, too. Caution. Probably mirroring the same tension in me.

Clearing my throat, I stand awkwardly for a moment. This isn’t my strong suit. Apologizing. Talking. I’m way better at using actions—on the ice, in the gym—but here, now, words feel like the only way forward.

“Holly,” I start slowly, taking a step closer. “We need to talk.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, soft but wary. “Yeah. We do.”

The weight shifts in my chest, making room for something else. Guilt, maybe. Regret.

“I’ve been ... off,” I say with my best sheepish face on, hands sliding into pockets. “And it’s unfair to you. And it’s about Jake.”

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