Page 7 of Pucking Dirty

"I had to run by Coach's place one day to grab something when she was home from college a few years ago." Archer shrugs like it's not a big deal. To him, I'm sure it's not. There's a reason he's the captain. Nothing much rattles him or gets him worked up. He's solid, steady, and chill as fuck most of the time. "I stayed for dinner."

"Aww. Did Daddy cook for his little man?" Diego asks.

"Man, knock it off with that shit," Archer growls, scowling at our backup goalie.

"Yeah, Diego," Logan says, jumping to Archer's defense. "It's not his fault that virtually everyone on the planet likes him better than you."

"Not everyone," Diego protests.

"Name one person who prefers you to Archer."

"Uh, my mom, motherfucker."

"You mean the lady who broke out a jersey with his number on it and asked him to sign it, and then wore it through the whole after party when we made it to the Playoffs last year?" River asks. "Man, she'd throw you in front of a bus for Cap."

"Fine," Diego grumbles before his tone turns triumphant. "But your mom fucking loves me. She told me so before I blew her back out last night."

"You are such a fucking…"

Emilia reaches the bar, leaning over to say something to Marco, the bar tender. When she does, her dress rides up dangerously high in the back. My mouth waters at the sight of her thick thighs.

Some asshole in a suit, one of the execs named Sean or Sven or something like that, seated off to the side notices her, too. He licks his fucking lips, staring at her ass. A second later, his hand drops to his lap, adjusting his dick.

"Nope. Hell no," I growl, dropping my bottle to the table and sliding from the booth.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Micah asks.

I ignore him, stalking across the bar toward Emilia as Sean or Sven or whatever his fucking name is heads her way, too. I beat him there, shooting him a warning glare as I press up against her from behind.

She immediately squeaks, spinning around to face me…which just means her tits are crushed against my chest and my dick is nestled against her stomach. I lash a hand around her waist, pinning her in place as I glance over at the dick in the suit again.

He holds his hands up, backing away. "My bad, Whatley. Didn't know she was yours."

She isn't mine. Yet. But I don't tell him that.

Christ, I am so fucked.

I wait for Suit to walk away before I slowly release Emilia, glancing down at her. Her wide eyes are locked on my face, the desire in them unmistakable. I want to lick my way across every freckle on her face.

Goddammit.

"Hey," I mutter, sliding onto a stool.

"Are you stalking me, Nash Whatley?" she asks, hopping up onto the stool beside me. Judging by the way she smiles when she says it, she isn't opposed to the idea.

"You're in our bar, baby girl."

"What?" Her brows furrow, her face scrunching up as she glances around. Her expression quickly clears when she notices the giant television screens, the windows overlooking the ice below, and the blue and gray motif all over the place. "Oh, right."

I chuckle, shaking my head. It shouldn't be legal to be so fucking beautiful and so fucking adorable at the same time. "Did you forget that you're at the arena?"

"No," she mumbles, avoiding my gaze, which I take to mean yes, she did forget that.

I shift on the stool, trying to give my dick a little breathing room. It's a fruitless attempt. The hard bastard isn't going down anytime soon.

"I heard a rumor."

"What a coincidence. So did I."

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