Page 9 of Pucking Obsessed

Robyn

Shocked,I snatch my hands from between D’Angelo’s and fall backward onto my ass amongst the puddle of wine and squashed chocolates on the porch’s floor.

The first ring attempt counts as a definite fail.

I suck at romance.

Shay is dripping water onto the white wooden floors from his wet, naked body.

Naked Weekends is Shay’s idea of heaven. If he could escape wearing clothes at all times, including on the rink, he’d jump at the chance.

Naked Hockey, now there’s an idea to get concession revenues up.

Cocks on Ice.

Actually, that sounds either painful or something on Shay’s kink list at the back of the Guide.

Droplets stream down from Shay’s spun golden hair, over his muscled chest and toned abs. He’s athletic with broad shoulders.

Shay is six foot, which means that he’s shorter than most hockey players. He’s prettier too with sharp cheekbones.

His skin is ice-white.

I expected him to turn into a lobster, when he caught the sun. The twins took turns lathering on obscene amounts of sun cream onto each other, however, before they left the shade of the beach house.

It looked like it was a familiar ritual.

When you’re as fair as they are, it’s not surprising that it’s either put on sun cream every morning or agonizingly burn.

Shay’s right eye, however, is swollen and already bruising to a deep purple.

He truly caught himself on that surfboard.

I’m not surprised, since Shay is impulsive. He throws himself at everything with a reckless energy.

Shay is standing staring at D’Angelo and me, looking gorgeous and confused.

His arms are also crossed, which never looks the power move that it should when a man has his cock and balls on display.

Yet he also can’t hide the hurt in his large, winter gray eyes, which are framed by butterfly lashes.

My chest aches.

D’Angelo’s expression hardens.

He pushes himself off the couch and prowls toward Shay, who has the sense to stumble backward.

D’Angelo brandishes the rose in front of himself like a sword. “For a qualified astrophysicist, I sometimes doubt your observational skills, cucciolo. Am I wearing a ring? Is our Robyn holding one?”

Our Robyn.

I smile.

I also almost forget that there truly are rings — three of them — hidden just behind the cushions on this couch.

“Huh, like I’d give D’Angelo a ring today,” I ramble, hoping that I don’t sound as fake as I do to my own ears. I never lie to my men but this time, it’s because I want presenting them with these rings to be something that makes them feel special and cherished. I mustn’t screw it up. “When he draws his horny fanged stickmen, spills my favorite wine all over me in order to lick it off, and gags me?”

Shay’s expression brightens. “Kinky. Now I’m even more jealous.”

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