Page 6 of Pucking Sweet

She leans away. “What do you mean?”

“I thought this was a reprimand. Are you seriously advising me on how best to throw a private rooftop orgy right now?”

She does me the courtesy of blushing, but she brushes it off with another wave of her hand. “I just told you, Lukas. Idon’t care what you do. I only carehowyou do it. If you’re determined to make it your job to party every moment you’re not on the ice, then as your PR manager, it’smyjob to ensure you do it with as little damage to your reputation as possible.”

I glare down at her. “Why do you care so much about my damn reputation?”

“Because you’re a Ray now.”

I bristle again. “Oh, and it’s as simple as that?”

“Yes, it’s as simple as that.”

I glance from her to Wednesday to Teddy, who still looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Poppy sighs, leaning her hip against the massage table. “Look . . . I don’t relish this part of my job, okay? I don’t want to come off as the morality police. It’s not about that. I’m sorry if, in my frustration, I sounded like a prude just now . . . or made you feel like you should be ashamed of your behavior.”

“If?” I press with a raised brow. “Poppy, you may as well have sprayed me down with disinfectant. Are you sure you wanna stand this close to me? You never know, my proclivity for promiscuity might be catching. I’d hate for you to become afflicted. Don’t they take your pearls away when you join the ‘bad girls club?’”

A heavy moment of silence hangs in the air between us as she doesn’t take my bait.

“Are you finished?” she asks.

Goddamn it, the pink of her lipstick matches her nails. Why does that turn me on? I don’t want to be turned on by this harpy of a PR manager. I want to bepissed. When I signed up to play professional hockey, I didn’t know I’d receive this constant policing of my behavior.

Don’t be too slutty, Lukas.

Don’t chirp the competition, Lukas.

Don’t pull pranks, Lukas.

It’s fucking exhausting. What does it matter what I dooffthe ice so long as I dominateonthe ice?

But it’s been like this on every team in every league. It’s like they expect us to behave like goddamn choirboys. I’m tired of getting my nose swatted with a rolled-up newspaper for daring to live my life on my terms. I’ve done enough of living under the rules and restrictions of others. Lukas Novikov is his own fucking person.

If I want to fuck and drink and party my way into an early grave, that shouldn’t putmy PR manager’s pink frilly undies in a twist. I do my job, and I do it better than practically everyone in the League. So, PR Barbie can just get off my fucking back already.

I onlythinkall this, of course. I don’t actually say any of it out loud because I’ve been doing this dance for years. Instead, I grit my teeth and say, “Yeah, I’m done.”

Reaching over, she pats my thigh. I stiffen, my gaze darting down to where her hand is touching me. She moves it away too soon. And then she’s moving away entirely. “Let’s start over,” she says, flicking her ponytail off her shoulder. I bet when that hair is down, it nearly touches her perky butt—

Shit—don’t think about her butt.

I grunt something that may be the word “okay” or may just be a sound like “harglumph.”

She offers me a weak smile. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Lukas. And Ireallydon’t want you to be my new problem. Between the bal- loon arches, and the fundraisers, and the whole ‘newest team in the NHL’ curse I’m trying to break, I have my hands more than full right now.”

“I don’t want that either,” I hear myself admit.

She checks on her buzzing phone, sending the call to voicemail. “So, then let’s find a new way forward. Right, here’s what we’ll do. Lukas, I want you to work with Claribel.”

Okay, shoe fucking drop.

I push off the massage table. “What?”

“Yeah, what?” Wednesday echoes.

“Claribel possesses the skill set you lack,” Poppy reasons, stepping between us to fetch her massive bag. “She’ll coach you in the art of living your private lifein private.”

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