Page 46 of Pucking Around

The thought ricochets inside my head as my lips part. He dares to give my bottom lip the slightest tug, wetting the tip of his thumb against my teeth. My breath catches and I’m leaning in. He’s so close. I want him to do it. I want to know what his lips feel like against mine. I want to chase each kiss. I want—

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Then he’s dropping his hand away from me and stepping back.

I’m left standing there, swaying slightly with my lips parted, heart racing, wholly unkissed.

He’s already turned away, reaching for another towel to fold. “Oh, and hey—” He reaches in his pocket and tosses something at me.

I catch it on reflex, clutching my key fob to my chest.

“I’m getting a ride with Jake. Think you can drive home in one piece?”

I nod, slipping the key into my pocket.

I don’t know what the hell just happened here. His signals are all over the place. They have been since we met. He’s burning hot, then he’s ice cold. He’s grumpy, he’s funny, he’s sexy, he’s sad. It’s like he’s a walking mood ring.

I turn around and stomp out. Sy follows me at a jog until I reach the stairs.

These boys are going to be the death of me. I’ve already got one hockey player in my bed—well, okay, hewasin my bed. Now he’s…god, I don’t even know what to call my not-a-relationship with Jake. He’s still texting me. He’s been burning up my phone all day. Random stuff like a picture of his lunch and something he’s calling ‘pelican watch.’ Apparently, a pelican keeps landing on the railing of his deck. That’s it. That’s pelican watch. It lands, and he takes a picture, and sends it to me.

So, I have Jake talking me to orgasm through the phone and sending pictures of pelicans. I have Caleb helping me climb balconies and edging me without even trying. Did I mention they’re best friends?

This is a disaster. I need some space. I need some uncomplicated dick.

No! Bad Rachel.

I pause in the stairwell, hand clutching the railing. No more dicks. No more drama kings. I need to do my job. And my job is physicals. Which means I need to go find my missing goalie.

22

Kinnunen is a no-show for the rest of the day. I finally hear from his coach as I’m about to head out for the afternoon. Something about extra video review sessions with the second and third string guys. Whatever, it’s fine. We’ve still got plenty of time.

I shoot a text off to Coach Tomlin and we get Kinnunen rescheduled for tomorrow. Now that the roster is set, I’ll need to add Davidson to my list too. He’ll be suiting up as goalie with Kinnunen for the first two games.

My first official day as a Ray went well enough. Aside from the hazing this morning with Langley, the guys were all perfect gentlemen. Jake blew up my phone a couple more times. A picture of a hotdog with mustard he must have snagged from the concession stand. A picture of him with Sy asking which face was more handsome. That got a reply out of me. I said the dog. And he’s continued his game of twenty questions that for now I’m leaving unanswered.

Caleb, on the other hand, remained totally MIA. If he was somewhere in this sports complex, I didn’t see him. Didn’t even catch wind of him. Or Sy. I was hoping maybe he’d change his mind about the driving thing. Not because I don’t want to drive—which, okay fine, I don’t. I was just hoping maybe it might be a sign of him thawing.

I apologized. I meant it. We had our second confusing almost-kiss moment. I don’t want this guy to hate me or be weird around me. We share a team and a wall. We’ll be traveling with each other to 41 away games, here for 41 home games. That’s a lot of togetherness.

Whatever.If he doesn’t want to accept my apology, if he’s determined to think everyone looks down on him and pities him, fine. I can’t change his bad attitude. I huff, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, as I walk out to the parking garage.

Maybe I’ll go to the beach tonight. I’ve been in Jacksonville for almost a week, and I haven’t even seen the ocean—

I still. An odd sensation prickles on the back of my neck, a feeling of being watched. I glance around the parking garage. It’s a bright, sunny day, so the garage is well-lit. I don’t see or hear anyone. I hurry along over to my truck, clicking the key fob to unlock the doors. The big truck beeps in the eerie quiet, taillights flashing.

I rush over and jerk open the driver’s side door. That’s when I let out a scream.

My soul leaves my body as a flood of colorful balls comes pouring out the open door, spilling around me in a cacophony of sound. Red, yellow, blue, green—they’re small and plastic, like from a kid’s play gym.

Someone filled the inside of my truck with a ball pit’s worth of balls!

I shriek, stumbling back. That’s where I hear it. Howls of laughter. I spin around to see ten guys standing a row of cars away with their phones out filming me, including Jake and Caleb. Sy is inside the back of a fancy Mercedes, his head poking out the window as he barks.

“You guys are jerks!” I cry, stumbling over the balls as I come out from between the cars, hands on my hips.

“Welcome to the Rays, Doc!” Novikov shouts.

“I hadnothingto do with this,” Langley adds, looking almost nervous to be included in the prank.

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