Page 8 of Puck of the Irish

He chuckles and takes my hand, tugging me back to the couch. He grabs the blanket from the floor and we settle in together, not exactly cuddling but…pretty damn close.What the fuck is happening right now?

“Growing up, St. Patrick’s Day was this huge deal to me. I dunno, I guess I thought the holiday wasjustfor us because in my little five-year-old brain, us being Irish was like abigdeal. We were extra special and so St. Patrick’s Day was just for me and mom, and everyone else who celebrated was actually celebrating us, like it was our fucking birthday or something.” He laughs and shakes his head, and I can’t help but smile, imagining a tiny Rizzo. It’s…adorable, actually. And sweet.And damn it donotmake me like you even more, Anthony Rizzo…

He continues on. “Mom would make shamrock cookies and green Kool Aid, and we’d have our own little St. Patrick’s DayParade in our tiny living room with decorations that we made out of construction paper. We’d call my grandparents who would always send a box of treats, and do lots of other very not-even-remotely Irish things, but mom was happy to do whatever made me happy. They’re some of the best memories I have. I loved everything about it. Still do.” He gives me one of his crooked, sexy grins. “The green beer and inebriated ladies are just extra perks now.”

I snort. “Your mom didn’t want to move back home after college?”

“Well, I kind of came along and then things got complicated,” he says, smiling, but there’s a hint of hurt there.

“Ah, gotcha.” I want to ask about his dad, suddenly so damn curious about this man, this side of him that I never knew existed, but that feels like too much, especially coming from me. Instead I ask about the pictures again. “So, the trips?”

“Well, growing up we didn’t have a lot of money—which incidentally is how I ended up playing hockey in the first place. My mom worked two jobs, sometimes three, just to make ends meet, and our downstairs neighbor would babysit me more or less for free. Hank was one of the best men I’ve ever known. He didn’t have to help out a single mom like that, ya know?” I suspected dad was out of the picture, but hearing it confirmed makes me want to know the whole story. “He ran the ice rink which thankfully was within walking distance of our apartment complex, and he would watch me there and let me skate for free. I helped him around the place, cleaning up and sharpening skates once I got old enough to do it without slicing my own finger off. He was a former hockey star turned coach, and I guess saw something in me. He gave me my first hand-me-down stick and pads, taught me the basics, and there was no turning back after that.” He smiles fondly at the memories and I can’t helpbut smile back, hearing how such an amazing life and career got started.

“Sounds like we all owe a lot to Hank.”

He nods his head. “We really, really do. I don’t know where the hell I would have ended up without him. He was the one who pushed me to keep my grades up when all I wanted to do was be on the ice to make sure I’d be eligible for scholarships, and when that time came, he helped my parents do so much research, finding me every damn dime they could. He even reached out to old teammates and players to get me seen by coaches from the best schools. I never would have gone to Cornell without him, let alone be drafted. Never would have met Shep, never would have…” He looks at me with one of those rare serious, intense stares, but quickly continues on, “moved to Seattle. He passed about five years ago now, but he got to see me play in the big leagues and even bring home a couple of titles, and that’s all I could have ever wanted.”

“I’m sure he was proud of you.” He nods, a sad smile on his face.

“I know he was. He and Ray—that’s my stepdad—were the best two father figures a kid could ask for.” He clears his throat before continuing on, “Anyway, back to the trips. So, yeah, mom and I didn’t exactly have the spare funds that would allow for vacations to visit my grandparents in Ireland back in the day. Even after she married Ray, we weren’t just swimming in cash or anything. My grandparents were able to come here a handful of times over the years, but it was hard for them too—they were both teachers before they retired, so not exactly lucrative careers. So, once I signed and started making the tiniest bit of real money, the first thing I did was take mom home. Then it just became our tradition. Ray comes sometimes too, but he likes to give me and mom our time together usually.” He shrugs and I shake my head.

“What?” he asks, running his hands over my legs.

“You are…surprisingly wholesome beneath that playboy exterior of yours.” It isn’t exactly what I want to say, but we aren’t going there.

His lips quirk. “Ok, all that was bullshit. I really just like the green beer and drunk chicks.”

I smack him in the chest and he laughs, scooping me up and twisting us so quickly that I yelp and giggle in surprise before he settles over me. He leans in and kisses me in a way that makes my breath hitch, my entire body suddenly on fire all over again. I reach down and grip his cock, not as shocked as I should be that he’s hard again. The man has some impressive stamina and rebound, that’s for damn sure. He groans quietly and I bite gently on his lower lip.

“I believe you promised all night long…and it’s only two a.m…”

With that, he makes good on his promise.

Six

RIZZO

I’m dozingoff when Nat leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. I pry my eyes open and frown.

She’s dressed and standing beside the couch instead of snuggled up next to me naked in all her glory.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up, blinking away the confusion. I shouldn’t want her to stay, especially not here, but…well, I don’t like the idea of her leaving either.

“I gotta go,” she says and then smirks. “Thanks for all the orgasms.” She says it so casually, like that’s all tonight was. Which, I mean, is what it wassupposedto be. Just one night of fun to scratch that forbidden itch we’ve both been skirting around for almost two months now. But I thought…Well, I don’t even fucking know what I thought. And now she’s leaving me.

Talk about the tables turning. Heading out after a great night of sex ismyM.O. I’m not the one left behind, and I honestly don’t know how to feel about it right now. It’s kind of…intriguing? Maybe a little attractive, even…but it’s also frustrating.And I don’t want her to fucking leave…

“Nat, wait, I—” She kisses me again.

“Don’t ruin it,” she whispers. She steps away and I let her, dropping my hand from her waist with a ridiculous effort. Her phone buzzes and she checks the screen. “My ride is here…See ya, Thirst Trap.” I watch her walk towards the door, hips swaying and heels in her hand. “I’m stealing this, by the way,” she calls after her shoulder, pointing to my old Cornell Hockey hoodie she’s got pulled on over her dress. I huff out a laugh, not at all upset that she’s keeping it. Hell, I actually kind of like it, like a little piece of me is marking her as mine somehow.

Which is insanely fucking stupid and not something I should like at all.

“Was it worth it?” I call out, remembering her plea when we started all this.You better make this worth it, Rizzo.

She turns at the door and grins.

“I give it a solid B+” She winks and heads out the door while I laugh at the sheer audacity of the lie.

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