Page 56 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

Don’t think about that now. Just enjoy the afterglow.

Ryder shut off the water, climbed out of the shower, and handed me a fuzzy blue towel. Once we’d wrapped our wet bodies in towels, he extended his hand. I didn’t bother asking where we were going. I knew if he was going, I wanted to go. I supposed I should be concerned that I didn’t have any clothes on, but that seemed inconsequential.

I heard voices in the living room, and Ryder moved me in front of him, blocking me from view, and walked me down the hall, away from the blips of conversation. We stepped into his bedroom and he locked the door behind us.

The other day I’d been too distracted by my conflicted feelings over crossing lines with him to fully take in the details of his room, but now I noticed the mostly bare walls, extremely tidy floor, and tightly made bed. Even his room reflected his controlled personality—or more like he controlled not showing it. The only sign he truly lived here was a photo with the team from last year, right after they’d won the Frozen Four Tournament. I knew, because I’d been there, and even if I hadn’t, the front and center NCAA trophy would’ve given it away.

The picture wobbled as he opened his dresser. “Championship hockey T-shirt or plain black T-shirt?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’d hate to take the stream crossing too far.”

“I’d say that all streams have already been crossed.” I took the hockey T-shirt. “Might as well embrace it.”

When I dropped my towel, he let out a gruff curse as his eyes devoured me from head to toe.

“You just saw me naked a minute ago, at most,” I said.

“I’m not sure it’s something I could ever get used to.” He ran his fingers down my side and rested his hand on the curve of my butt. Then he hauled me against him. “I’m willing to try, of course.”

“How magnanimous of you,” I said, using the word that’d first made me think there was something different about this hockey player.

He rubbed his nose against mine before dropping a quick kiss on my lips.

I slipped the huge T-shirt over my head, and he stepped into some plaid boxers. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me onto his bed with him. He curled me against his chest, wrapping me tightly in his arms, and gave a happy sigh. “Best day ever.”

“Itwaspretty awesome. Here I thought shooting hockey players would be the highlight, and then you had to go and top it with shower sex.”

His chuckle stirred my damp hair.

I loved how in the shower it was all power and taking charge, but in those in between moments, and after, he turned back to tender gestures and smiles.

He said he didn’t care about my past; said he wanted me, and wanted us, and it sounded like he wanted it as much as I did. That made it okay to love him, right? In fact, it felt like Igotto love him. In this moment, choosing to didn’t make me feel weak, either. I felt like I could take on the world.

Which made me think that maybe—just maybe—I could find a way to make it last.

Chapter Thirty-One

Lindsay

Confession #17:I might be a puck bunny again.

Okay, according to the exact definition, maybe not so much. My interest wasn’t primarily motivated by sexual attraction to the hockey players anymore.

Just one player, and I did enjoy other aspects of the game. I wasn’t the hugest fan of how much anxiety coursed through my body at the thought of the team losing. I already had trouble not resenting how little time we’d been able to spend together this past week—hockey ate up Ryder’s days and evenings, and even when we’d caught a few hours here and there together, he was more distracted than usual, muttering plays and worrying about the outcome of playoffs. If they lost, it’d feel like a waste, not to mention Ryder would be crushed.

“Get him, get him,” I said, leaning as if that’d help Ryder get to the guy from the other team who was breaking for the goal faster. “That’s it!”

I leaped to my feet as Ryder blocked and swung at the puck, sending it toward Beck. “Woo hoo!”

The end of my shout came out on a hoarse shriek. Ten minutes into the semifinals game, and my throat already felt raw from cheering and screaming. Somehow I’d gone from willing to do almost anything to score a hockey player, to avoiding them at all costs, to spending all my time trying to keep my hockey player happy, including praying for a win.

Man, he looks hot out there.I knew exactly how the muscles under those pads looked and moved, and a hot flush swirled through me as I thought about all the amazing things he could do with that body.

The boys set up their offense, passing the puck back and forth, and Lyla, Whitney, and Megan stood to join me as we cheered for them to score. When Beck got the puck, Lyla wrapped her hand around my arm and tucked her head on my shoulder.

“I’m too nervous to watch,” she said, but she peeked, her fingers tightening on my upper arm.

A quick pass to Dane, who cut across and sent the puck into the goal.

Megan shouted as she bounced on the balls of her feet, Lyla and Whitney cheered, and I got in on the action, adding the earsplitting whistle Mom taught me—it certainly gained attention.

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