Page 3 of Pucking Strong

I thought he was working for the Jags. That’s football, right? I got myself a jersey and everything. Show me those season tickets, bay-bay!

NATALIE:

NHL is hockey. Not football.

JAYLA:

Well, then you’ve lost my interest *wave emoji*

I smile into my coffee as I scroll through the rest of the messages. Apparently, Jayla now expects me to pay for the Jags jersey she can’t return. And Shae wants me to get tickets for her whole family to come to the first home game.

The pedestrian light flashes. “Walk sign, Third Street,” the robotic traffic voice chirps.

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I step off the curb. Then a few things happen all at once. First, my entire life flashes before my fucking eyes as a blue pickup truck blasts through the pedestrian walkway. Slamming on his horn, the driver runs the red light, nearly turning me into mashed potatoes.

I’m only saved by the second thing. A pair of strong arms wrap around my chest from behind and jerks me back just in time. “Look out,” says a gruff voice in my ear.

Then I’m falling. All I see is sky as I drop back in slow motion, those firm arms locked around my chest. My perfect cup of coffee goes flying from my hand as I land on my savior. He grunts,absorbing our impact as he hits the ground first. My coffee lands next to us with asplat. I cry out as I watch it leak all over the sidewalk. “My orgasm!”

The hands on me tighten as the man beneath me groans, rolling me to the side.

Oh my god, I just had a near-death experience. I literally almost just died.

My savior shifts out from under me. “Are you alright?”

I blink twice. Holy fuck, this is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s young and white. His eyes are a deep blue, almost navy. They’re wide with concern now. A wave of dark blond hair sweeps across his brow. His cheeks are bearded, like sand on the beach, all faded yellow, flecked with brown. He speaks, but there’s a ringing in my ears. “What?”

“I said, are you alright?” he asks again.

Fuck me, I think he has an accent. Is he European? I sit up, and he drops his hand away. Suddenly, I want to die all over again. He was touching me and now he’s not? Make that make sense.

“Should we call an ambulance?” an older lady asks, clutching her chest as she peers down the street.

My beautiful savior has eyes only for me. “No, I think he’s alright. Just startled.”

Startledfeels like the wrong word to describe how I’m feeling right now. God just threw me into the arms of his most perfect creation. I should introduce myself, right? Maybe tattoo his angelic face on my bicep. At the very least, I should offer to pay him for his trouble. I mean, hedidjust save my life. But I’m a starving college kid. My wasted coffee was already an extravagance. I point to where it’s pooling on the ground. “You spilled my orgasm.”

“What?”

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