Page 6 of Pucking Dirty

"The conversation in that net is scintillating, bitch." Logan flips him off, earning a grunt from Jordan. "And scintillating doesn't mean it smells like your sweaty balls, in case you were wondering. I know big words are hard for you and shit."

"Man, fuck you." Jordan takes a pull from his beer as he side-eyes Logan. "Why the fuck couldn't we trade for Dacen Reaper instead of you?"

"Because they pay your big ass too much and couldn't afford him." Logan bats his lashes at Jordan. Like me, Logan is new to the team. He played for the Predators for years, but something happened with his sister. He's incredibly tight-lipped about thedetails, but it prompted his move here. "You're stuck with me instead. Suck it up, buttercup."

Jordan cracks a smile, shaking his head.

I go back to staring at Emilia. She stops halfway across the bar to talk to Alice Madison, our publicist. Judging by the way they hug it out and then start talking with their hands, they've got a lot to say. I lean closer…like that's going to help me hear over my loud fucking teammates.

Jesus. Do they ever shut the fuck up?

No. The answer is no.

"She's really Lariat's kid?" Diego asks from beside me.

"Yes," I growl, turning to glower at him. I send the same warning look to everyone else at the table. "That means hands off. Coach will rip your balls off and feed them to you." And bycoach, I mean me, but I leave that part out.

"Damn. What did Lariat say to you in his office the other day?" Logan asks, one brow quirked. "He's got your big ass out here defending her honor like she's your kid."

"Nothing." That's a lie. He told me the same shit he told me when I joined the team—stay out of the gossip pages and away from his daughter. Neither was a problem then. I'm thirty-two, not a fucking rookie with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. And the only thing I knew about his daughter was that he had one.

My, how the tables have turned.

I've spent the last week trying to convince myself the rules apply now more than ever. Spoiler alert: it isn't working.

As soon as I think I've convinced myself, I remember the way she smiled up at me, her relentless teasing, or the way she whimpered when I pressed up against her, and all my hard work means exactly dick.

I wasn't lying when I told her that I don't fuck around. And promising Coach that I'd stay out of trouble wasn't a hardship. I know exactly how shit in this league works.

Guys like River, Joaquin, and Diego burn hot and fast. Everyone loves them, but their stars burn out before their bodies do. They spend half their careers with fans hating them for all the questionable shit they did back in the day—like fucking their way through half the fandom. But guys like me, Archer, Jordan, and Micah? Hell, even Logan, despite how often he pretends he's just like River to keep all eyes on him and away from his sister? We've been at it long enough to know this isn't a sprint. Real fans don't want out-of-control players who spend as much time gracing the gossip pages as they do on the ice. They want players dedicated to the game.

I've been that motherfucker for years, keeping my head down and doing what needed to be done. I never wanted my sister caught up in any bullshit, so I kept my head on straight and focused on the game.

Until now. Emilia Lariat has me ready to break every single rule in the book just for a taste.

I glance back over at her in time to see her hugging Alice again. She waves bye to her, and then resumes her trek to the bar, those dimples lighting up the entire fucking room.

Christ, I want that round ass in my hands while she's begging me to fuck my kid into her.

I slouch down in the booth, snatching my bottle from the table to take a long drink. It doesn't settle me down any at all.

"Rumor is that she's our new staff shrink," Archer says, his voice a quiet murmur.

I heard the same rumor. It's yet another reason I need to keep my hands to myself. Come Monday, she won't just be Lariat's daughter. She'll be a member of the staff. That's bound to get complicated.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jordan mutters, turning to peer at her through narrowed eyes. "There's no way she's the shrink. She's what? Eighteen?"

"Twenty-four," Archer says. "She has a graduate degree in psychology."

"How the fuck do you know so much about her?" River leans back in the booth, suspicion written all over his face. "You got a hard on for her or something?"

I growl softly.

"Fuck no." Archer scowls at him, his gaze flickering to Micah and then away before anyone else notices. I clock it, though. Archer thinks he's subtle, but half the goddamn team knows he's in love with Micah's baby sister, Wren. I spent five minutes in a room with them together and figured it out. The only one who hasn't worked it out yet is Micah. He's too wrapped up in his wife and baby to notice. "I've met her before."

Everyone at the table turns to look at him.

"You met her before? How the fuck did you get to meet her, but we didn't?" Joaquin asks, scowling like he thinks it's a big injustice. It is, actually. I should have met her as soon as I was traded to the Carvers. But the rest of these assholes? Fuck no. They don't need to know anything about her, especially not Joaquin or River. Diego, either.

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