Page 1 of Puck Right Off

CHAPTER 1

Jordyn

Dread fills my heart as I stare at the two-story colonial house through my windshield.You can do this. It won’t be so bad.

A long, tired sigh falls from my lips. Arguing with my overbearing stepfather, Robert Fowler, drained the remnants of my energy and ruined my summer. The only good thing about that jackass is he’d already paid my half of the rent on the apartment I shared with my best friend, Chelsea Brady, which allowed me to stay in New York.

But as summer ended, I had no choice but to face the stark reality—I couldn’t afford Cornell University without his funding. After many tears and hugs, I left my best friend in my rearview mirror and drove four hours to Weston Heights University, home of the infamous Weston Heights Wolverines hockey team. The team my pain-in-the-ass stepbrother plays for.

With a long sigh, I stretch my arms overhead, then pull my cell phone from the pocket of my purse. My brows draw in as I read the text my stepbrother, Josh, sent me two hours ago.

Josh: Dad needs me, so I won’t be there when you arrive. Tristan can help carry your stuff in.

I snort aloud. Typical. Daddy beckons, and Josh goes running to do his bidding. He’s such an ass-kisser. He’s also lazy and probably broke out in hives at the thought of helping me carry my stuff into the house.

My gaze slides back to the front door. Everything is still, with no sign of life. Hockey God is probably inside, playing video games or whatever it is jocks do when they aren’t skating around, chasing a little puck, and slamming one another into the boards.

I cringe at the thought of living with two hockey cretins for the next fifteen weeks. I give myself a pep talk, trying to find the positives in this situation.

It’s temporary. A way to pursue your goals and save money.

Dread fills my heart as I grab my phone and check the time.

Great. I’m an hour early, and I don’t have Tristan’s number to call or text him.

I debate blowing the horn to see if I can summon the jock, but it’s barely 8:00 am on a Saturday morning, and there are neighbors around us. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.

Pushing the door open, I wearily drag myself from the car. Josh had given me the code for the front door, which has a keyless entry lock, and I put it in my Notes app on my phone.

My gaze returns once more to the front door. With a sigh, I head to the passenger side, grabbing my duffle bag and purse before trudging up the sidewalk.I’ll go inside and let Tristan know I’m here.

After entering the code, I push the door open and step inside. The cool blast of central air hits my skin as I make myway across the foyer, surprised at how neat and clean the house is. I open my mouth to announce my presence when a grunt reaches my ears. Following the sound, I expect to see him with a controller in his hands, eyes glued to the TV, but that’s not what I find.

I’m paralyzed by what is transpiring in front of me. My mouth hangs open in shock as I rapidly blink a few times, unable to believe what I see.

A brunette is on her knees in front of a muscular, blond-haired man, her mouth and tongue sucking his impressive cock. She works him like a pro, taking his long length and wide girth deep in her mouth.She must not have a gag reflex.

The guy is sprawled on the couch, his hands tangled in the brunette’s hair, urging her on.

Oh hell. My new roommate is getting a blow job from a puck bunny.I need to get the hell out of here.

My feet betray me, remaining stubbornly rooted to the hardwood floor. I blink several times in disbelief, but the image doesn’t change.

Say something so they know you’re here.

But I don’t. Instead, I stand there, watching them like a creepy voyeur.

The brunette pulls his dick from her mouth, allowing me a full view of his large member. Instead of putting her mouth back on him, she eagerly gets to her feet. He grabs the condom lying beside him on the couch, ripping it open, and sheathing himself, completely oblivious to me standing there. She climbs on the couch, her thighs straddling his. Grabbing the base of his dick, she lines it up with her entrance and slowly sinks down.

“You have such a nice big cock, Tristan,” she rasps out as she begins moving.

His head falls back against the couch with a groan. He’s sofocused on the shapely brunette with big tits that he never glances my way.

As she rides him, a flush heats my skin. I should tiptoe to the door, praying they don’t notice me, and head back to my car. That would certainly be better than standing here, watching, wondering if he’ll make her come.

But I don’t move.

I’m practically drooling as his hands move to her hips, guiding her up and down on his large cock, sexy moans falling from his lips. Although I’ve never been into jocks, Tristan is hot and buff as hell, with ridges and valleys of muscle on every inch of his body. I didn’t even know it was possible for a man to look like that in real life.

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