Page 3 of Pucking Obsessed

A GUIDE TOAVOIDDATING HOCKEY PLAYERS

TheAVOIDis scratched out with silver pen.

I created it in my yearlong divorce proceedings with my husband, as a guide with rules to make sure that I never,everdated a hockey player again.

It didn’t work.

Three times.

And that’s when I scratched out theAVOID.

Now, it’s a guide tolovingmy three men.

D’Angelo turned it into a journal of our explorations, kinks, and fantasies.

Of course he did.

My wicked angel.

We each wrote out our secret fantasies, then D’Angelo stamped the pages with one wordCONFIDENTIALand stapled them into the Guide.

D’Angelo made the rule, when we negotiated our contracts, boundaries, and limits that he was in control of when we saw each of the innermost desires.

I lick over my lips.

What did my lovers write?

Why is it so much more exciting, when the fantasies are secret and forbidden?

D’Angelo traces one strong finger over the arch of my foot.

My skin prickles.

He’s scanning up and down my curves, as I lie on the pile of velvet cushions, like he wants to drink me more than the whiskey that he’s swirling in the crystal glass in his hand.

And he fucking loves whiskey.

When he notices the direction of my look, his lips curl up at one side. He takes a deliberately long drink. I’m fixated by the way that his long, tanned throat bobs on each swallow.

My gaze flicks up to his plush lips, which are pressed to the rim of the glass.

Lucky glass.

I flush, clearing my throat.

D’Angelo’s eyes dance with amusement.

He places down the glass. “We have this one weekend together, before the playoff home games begin again next week. So what if I want to spend it writing…?”

“Smut.”

“Romance.”

“Not if it means that we can’t spend our time together. How long are you going to be working?”

He taps his Rolex three times. “Genius takes time.”

“You’ve been scribbling for at least an hour.”

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