Page 7 of Huge Pucking Play

Cyn takes another sip of brandy, her eyes on mine. "It certainly suits you."

I chuckle, swirling the brandy in my glass. "It's funny, I never thought I'd end up this big when I was a kid."

"No?" Cyn asks, tucking her legs under her.

I shake my head. "Nah, I was actually pretty scrawny until high school. The other guys used to tease me. But hockey changed all that."

Her eyes light up. "How did you get into hockey?"

A warm feeling spreads through my chest, memories flooding back. "It was my grandfather, actually. He used to take me to games when I was little."

Cyn leans in, clearly intrigued. "How sweet."

"Yeah," I say, smiling. "Every Saturday, like clockwork. We'd bundle up, grab hot dogs, and cheer our lungs out for the local team."

"That sounds wonderful," she says softly.

I nod, lost in the nostalgia. "It was our thing, you know? Just me and Gramps. He taught me everything about the game—the rules, the strategies, the history."

"And you started playing?"

“I did. And all the training put a lot of muscle on. And then I had a big growth spurt. And next thing you know, my buddies nicknamed me Huge.”

“So you have your grandpa to thank for all that?”

"Partly," I admit. "But it was more than that. It was about the connection, the tradition. Every time I stepped on the ice, I felt close to him."

I look up, realizing I've been rambling. But Cyn's eyes are shining, fixed on me with an intensity that takes my breath away.

Suddenly, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine. It's soft, tentative, but electric. My mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the unexpected kiss.

She pulls back, eyes wide with surprise at her own actions. "I...I'm sorry, I don't know why I?—"

I cut her off, cupping her face gently and drawing her back in for another much longer kiss.

Chapter 3

Cyn

Garrett's hands are firm yet gentle, drawing me close. His breath warms my cheek as our lips meet, a dance of hesitation giving way to passion.

"Is this okay?" His voice is low, an undercurrent of concern amidst the building storm.

"More than okay," I whisper back, tingling from head to toe. “Don’t forget that I’m the one who started this.”

Garrett's mouth crashes down on mine again, his tongue invading my mouth with a demanding stroke that leaves me breathless. His hands move up my sides to cup my breasts through my oversized shirt. A moan escapes my throat as heat spreads between my legs. I arch into him, needing more of his touch.

He tastes like mint and brandy, a surprisingly amazing combination.

The world narrows down to the space we occupy. The thrum of Vegas outside the Excalibur Casino dims against the sound of our breathing, the soft catch of fabric shifting as we move together.

"Bedroom?" The question comes muffled against my neck.

"Bedroom," I agree, the word a key unlocking the next door.

He stands, effortlessly lifting me with him. We navigate through the dimly lit room, every step deliberate, every touch a spark.

We lay down and the bed is soft beneath us, a contrast to the solid presence of Garrett. I savor the dichotomy—the comfort of the bed, the electric thrill of his touch. It's all-consuming, this feeling, this moment with him. And I know, without a doubt, that I am exactly where I want to be.

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