Page 4 of Pucking Sweet

“Rivalries die a slow death,” I intone.

He just shrugs. “Not for me. I don’t like to dwell on the past. Tell you what, the first game we play in Montreal, we’ll find a great dive and split an order of poutine. My treat. Then I’ll have to beat you away with a stick.” He holds out a hand, intending for me to shake it.

I glance down at it. “Oh, so you think it’s that easy to woo a Canadian? A little poutine and I’ll just forget about how you smoked us during the last playoffs?”

“It worked for me before,” he replies, still holding out his hand. “If poutine’s not your thing, I’ll just shake a box of maple candy at you. Either way, we’ll both be dressed in the teal and white of the Rays. Boom. Best friends forever.”

Okay, I officially like Langley. I laugh as I reach out my hand, but the sound dies as I take in the sudden look of panic on his face.

“Uh-oh.” He drops his hand to his side. “Dude, watch your six.”

I hear the soft click of heels coming from directly behind me and my shoulders stiffen. “Oh shit . . . PR Barbie?”

“Yep.”

“No.”

“She’s clocked you, man.”

I groan. “Exactly what color is her pencil skirt?”

“Uhh . . .” He glances surreptitiously around me to check. “Black.”

“Fuck.”

Black means no nonsense. Black means it’s about to be someone’s fucking funeral.

He claps me on the shoulder. “She’s hungry for it, man. Total blood in the water.”

My gaze darts around, noting all the exits. I feel it when her eyes lock on me. “Can I still escape?”

“Not a chance. Sorry, man.”

I grab his arm as he tries to step past me. “Goddamn it. Don’t leave me.”

He twists his wrist, wrenching away from my grasp. “If I stay here, she’ll drag me into whatever mess you’re in, and I’d rather keep my balls attached, thanks.”

“You are dead to me,” I hiss. “Thisis how we become enemies.”

Langley laughs, ducking around me like a rabbit fleeing from a fox. Only in this case, the fox stands at all of five-foot-two and has pink manicured nails for claws.

“Good luck ever becoming my lover now, you fucking Judas,” I rasp at his back. He uses Teddy as a human shield, darting away from our approaching director of public relations.

“Yoo-hoo, Lukas,” Poppy calls. “Honey, do you have a minute to chat?”

Teddy looks wide-eyed at me while, behind him, Avery just smirks. Arrogant fuck. I hate him. I take a deep breath, filling my chest with air as I spin around.

Fuck me. Why does the biggest ball-buster I’ve ever met have to be so gorgeous? She marches toward me in her kitten heels, that devilish black pencil skirt hugging the narrow curve of her hips. Her blazer is unbuttoned, revealing a silky blouse underneath that hugs her perky boobs.

Fuck—don’t look at her boobs.

My gaze darts up to take in the pointed features of her face instead. Her bright blue eyes are narrowed at me, while that curly blonde ponytail swings from side to side with each step. “Poppy St. James, as I live and breathe,” I say at her approach. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Spare me the sass, Lukas. We need to talk. In private, if you please,” she adds, her gaze darting over to the PT staff. Behind her, Wednesday Addams deadpans me, her phone clutched in her pasty hand capped with pointed black talons.

Avery just chuckles and walks off in the direction of his office. But sweet Teddy doesn’t take the hint. “Good morning, Ms. St. James,” he says brightly.

She turns, blasting him a megawatt smile. “Teddy, honey, haven’t I told you to call me Poppy?”

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