Page 33 of Pucking Around

Tess hoots with delight. “Yaaass, get it, girl! Make him sweat! And call me tomorrow!” She hangs up before I can reply.

As soon as she’s gone, my confidence falters. Rachel Price doesnotsend nude pictures of herself to men. I’m suddenly nervous. Snatching up my wine and my phone, I go inside.

I really shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to lead him on.

But you really want an orgasm.

I shiver at the thought, my mouth quirking into a smile. Yeah, just picturing Jake’s face when his phone dings is enough to have me hot. And there’s literallynoway he won’t respond. If I’m not careful, I might have him breaking the laws of traffic, racing over here to handle business in person.

Would that be so bad?

I groan, setting down my glass of wine. I strip off my ratty Ferrymen sweatshirt, tossing it to the bottom of the bed. Now I’m standing in just my silky pajama shorts. No way am I sending a picture of my coochie. I’m not even going to let him see my full tits.

I crawl onto the bed, sitting back against the pillows. I cross my right arm over the girls, squeezing them together a bit and giving them a lift. The lighting is good, just a soft glow from my side lamp. And if I angle the shot right, I get just my neck and chest. Everything is covered and the angle ends at my hips.

Before I lose my nerve, I take the photo. This is crazy, but I have a plan. I send the picture and wait.

17

After a long day of practice, it feels good to unwind with the guys. A few of us are out exploring a new bar tonight, eating our weight in chicken wings and salad. The food is crap, and the music is too loud, but we’ve got a great view of the ocean.

Caleb sits next to me, reading out the stats from the other NHL teams’ exhibition games. Morrow and Novy sit across from us, elbows bumping at this narrow table.

“Oy, boys,” says Novy with a laugh. “Look who we have here.”

Caleb and I glance over our shoulders.

“Apparently that asshole thinks he’s too good to sit with us,” Novy says with a huff.

That’s when I see him. Mars Kinnunen is a giant. He’s sitting by himself at the bar, glancing down at his phone while he eats his dinner. If he’s noticed us sitting fifteen feet away, he’s not letting on.

“He hates me,” Novy adds, snatching up his beer and taking a swig.

“He likes you fine, Nov,” says Caleb, turning back around.

“No, he’s Finnish,” Novy counters. “When we first met, he tried to speak to me in Russian and I just stared at him. The only Russian I know are my grandpa’s curse words. He rolled his eyes and walked off.”

“Nah, he’s okay,” says Morrow. “Great player. Goalies are always weird, eh?”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Caleb asks me.

I shrug too. There hasn’t been a ton of opportunity. The goalies always have slightly different schedules. They’ve got their own coaches, their own practice times. I mean, I’ve seen him around, and we talk on the ice when we have to, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing about him outside his stats.

Caleb gives me a hard shove.

“What the hell?” I growl, as the other guys laugh.

“Go talk to him. Go say hi.”

“Yougo talk to him,” I huff.

“I talk to him all the time,” Caleb replies. “He’s a cool guy. Yeah, he’s quiet, but you try looking like that and see how easy it is to have people approach you first.”

I glance back over towards the giant Finn. Caleb is right, even in this crowded bar, there’s an aura around him. The guy gives off serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy. I once saw footage of him in a fight on the ice. He knocked the guy out with one punch.

“Do it,” Novy jeers.

“Yeah, tell him to get over here,” Morrow adds. “We can pull up a chair.”

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