Page 1 of Pucking Curves

Chapter One

Archer

“Headsup,”MicahRushingmutters as soon as we step off the elevator into the lobby, his voice strained. “The vultures are descending.”

I whip my head up from my phone just in time to see a group of women in tight leather skirts, cut up Carvers’ jerseys, and heavy makeup rushing across the lobby toward us. Their heels clack against the tiled floor in a familiar, infuriating rhythm that makes my head throb. They’re like a pack of wild ostriches descending…eyes laser focused, heads straight, chests out, terrifying looks that scream “I’m going to devour you” written all over their faces.

Fuck my life.

“Oh my god! Archer Graves! I thought that was you!” the bottle-blonde leading the pack practically squeals, trying to throw herself into my arms like we’re long-lost lovers.

I quickly sidestep her, refusing to be caught up in whatever bullshit game she wants to play tonight. Nope. Nu-uh. Not happening. I don’t know her, and I’m not interested.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl, a hard edge to my voice. I don’t really give a shit if she and her friends think I’m an asshole or not. That’s their prerogative. It won’t be the first time I’ve been called something uncomplimentary by one of our female fans. Hell, I doubt it’ll be the last, either. But I don’t fuck puck bunnies. Ever.

There are only one pair of hands I want anywhere near me…and that won’t ever happen. Wren Erikson is Micah’s baby sister, completely unattainable. Putting my hands on her would violate every rule there is to violate.

That hasn’t stopped my obsession with the curvy little beauty, now, has it?

No. The answer is no.

I’ve been gone for her since the day we met at Micah’s wedding a year ago. She was the only woman in the room not fawning all over his hockey player friends. In fact, she didn’t want a goddamn thing to do with any of us. I fucking loved every bit of that.

I’ve been followed around, cooed at, and fawned over for most of my life. The shit gets old quick. I never wanted to be some guy women wanted to fuck. I just wanted to play hockey. The sport is in my blood. If there was ever a time when I didn’t have skates on my feet and a stick in my hands, I don’t remember it.

I remember exactly what it felt like looking at Wren for the first time, though. She was dressed in this teal and white pinstripe bathing suit, soaking up the sun poolside, beads of sweat trickling between her breasts. Looking like a fucking goddess with those curves on display.

I wanted to put my hands all over her…and she looked at me like she didn’t give a shit who I was or what I wanted. I was blocking the sun she was trying to enjoy. As far as she was concerned, that made me a problem.

I spent the whole weekend following her around like a lost puppy, slowly winning her over. By the time the wedding festivities ended, she didn’t entirely hate me. And I was completely fucking obsessed.

Micah doesn’t have a clue. For obvious reasons. If he ever finds out how I feel about her, he’ll lose his mind. He’s crazy protective of her. Can’t say I blame him for that shit because she’s literal perfection. But the girl was made for me.

And if she or Micah ever finds out the truth about the things I’ve done to keep her close, all hell will break loose. She’ll never forgive me. He will literally murder me.

RIP to our friendship.

RIP to our championship dreams.

RIP to any chance of ever seeing her again.

I refuse to allow that to happen, so I take what I can get and pretend it’s enough. It isn’t. Not even close. But when the alternative is being shut out of her life entirely? Well, a motherfucker’s gotta do what a motherfucker’s gotta do.

The blonde draws up short, shock filtering across her face, as if she can’t believe I’ve actually told her no. I guess she didn’t get the memo. My answer is always no. Never. Not fucking happening.

“Hands off, ladies,” Micah drawls beside me, no more patient with their bullshit than I am…but somehow far more charming. He even manages to smile. “Find a player willing to invite you into bed. It’s not gonna be me. And this one?” He shoots me a shit-eating grin, mischief in his brown eyes. “He’s a born-again virgin.”

“Wait. Seriously?” The blonde who was just trying to attach herself to me gapes like she just learned that the world isn’t flat. “So, you just don’t fuck like…ever?”

“Ever,” Micah says before I can respond.

A brunette pouts up at him, batting her lashes. “You look like you could be fun, Micah. Are you sure you don’t want to party with us?”

He grits his teeth to keep from saying whatever he really wants to say and shakes his head. “Positive,” he says firmly. “Enjoy your night, ladies.”

He’s better at handling their bullshit than I am. Impressive since out of the two of us, he’s the one married with a baby. The man doesn’t play when it comes to his wife and baby girl. Ninety percent of the time, we can’t even get him to go out with us to celebrate when we win because he’d rather be home with them. But he still manages to handle the puck bunnies without infuriating them.

As captain of the team, I should have mastered that skill long ago but never did. Whatever. I earned my spot because I was right for it, not because I’m good with pushy women who want to fuck us.

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