Page 32 of Pucking Sweet

Aswarm of excited energy hums inside PNC Arena, home of the Carolina Hurricanes. Game one of the season is officially here. It’s warm-up time, and the stands are already filling fast. I breathe deeply, taking in the chemical smell of the freshly sprayed ice, the hot buttery popcorn, and the detergent-fresh scent of my new warmup jersey.

God, I fuckinglovehockey.

And there is nothing better than game one of a new season. Everyone is excited to see the Rays take to the ice, so this game is sold out. Eager fans are already standing right behind our bench, cheering and waving homemade signs.

I give them a wave and a smile as I glide up. Then I catch Sanford’s attention, beckoning him down the bench. He gives a nod to Wednesday and Doc Price and heads my way. “Trouble?”

“My blade feels funny. It’s loose or warped or something.”

He’s all business as he turns to the blade box perched behind him. “Which foot?”

“Left.”

He rattles around in the box. “Put it up.”

I lean over the boards on my elbows, and prop my left foot up on the bench. “Hey, don’t trip,” I shout at J-Lo as he skates past.

He gives me a laugh and a gloved middle finger. I’ve been teasing him since we left Jacksonville, just little things about tripping or forgetting his socks. Sure, he’s starting over me, but I’m not actuallythatbig of a sore loser. He’s just easy to chirp. He’s so good-natured. If you’re his teammate, nothing gets under his skin.

“Lukas, we need to talk.”

“Jesus—fuck.” My stick rattles away, and I nearly topple over as Poppy “Silent Mode Activated” St. James appears at my shoulder.

“Hey,” Sanford says behind me, his grip tightening on my skate. “Hold still, you wobbly fuck. These blades aren’t made of rubber.”

“Sorry, Sanny,” I say, slowly turning with my upper body to gaze down at our director of public relations.

I knew she was on this trip. I watched her board the plane, climbing the steps of our chartered jet looking like a supermodel in her black shades and slinky black dress. She looks very on brand tonight too. She’s sporting a Rays’ teal business suit. The color is loud, but she pulls it off. Her blonde hair is swept up in a long ponytail. That’s one thing to be grateful for, I guess. I don’t have to pretend her skinny little pencil skirt isn’t driving me fucking crazy as I talk to her.

But—oh, this is perfect. She lookspissed. I brighten immediately. My dick is practically twitching in my hockey pants as I take in the glint in her eyes. “Poppy St. James,” I croon at her. “I get the feeling you need something.”

“Idoneed something,” she replies, one hand on her hip. “I need to know where you find the king-sized audacity.”

From behind me, Sanford chuckles. “He buys it in bulk at Costco.”

“Eyes on your own work, Sanny,” I say at him. Then I turn back to Poppy. “Could we maybe do this later? Sanford and I were kind of having a moment.”

“No, we can’t do this later,” she counters. “Because this may be the only chance I have to hold your attention for more than sixty seconds.”

“Bold of you to assume you have my attention now,” I say, faking a wave at someone out on the ice. Stupid fucking Walsh. He sees it, and now he’s looking over his shoulder and waving back, confused. I snort a laugh.

“I just need to know if you have any respect for me at all,” she goes on.

I turn to her, smile falling. “Poppy—”

“Really, I do. I need to hear you say that you respect my role here as director of public relations.”

I blink, noting the stiff silence coming from Sanny. The asshole is terrible at pretending not to listen. “Poppy, I respect you—”

“Well, I don’t believe you,” she replies, crossing her arms.

“Well, that’s too damn bad.” I lean over until my sweaty face is level with hers. “And I don’t thinkyourespectme. If you did, you wouldn’t be crashing down on me like a fucking tsunami right now when I’m supposed to be getting my head in the game. Bad form, Poppy. You could cost us our first chance at a W. Then how would you live with yourself, eh?”

She points out to the ice. “You were just out there skating around with your stick between your legs, riding it like a broom! That’s not ‘head in the game’ behavior to me, Lukas. That’s more like head up your butt!”

Behind us, Sanford snorts. “Get him, Poppy.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Are you nearly finished?”

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