Page 1 of The Pucker and the Princess
CHAPTER ONE
Dozer
The tall brunettecatches my eye as I approach the door to head out for a jog. Training camp starts next week, and I need to get back into fighting shape before then. After a vacation and a mid-summer breakup, it took me longer than it should’ve to get back to my regular workouts, choosing instead to wallow in my feelings for weeks until I couldn’t afford to put it off any longer and Nick Abernathy, the Emeralds’ team captain, sent Jenkins and Bouchard to kick my ass into gear.
But I freeze in my tracks at the sight of the brunette, watching her move. I can’t help it. I have a type, and she ticks all my boxes. Tall and slender. Leggings show off her toned muscles as she stretches and reaches, accepting a box from a uniformed mover standing in the back of a box truck, a cropped T-shirt showing off her waist. Her long hair hangs in a braid down her back. It doesn’t take much to imagine it loose, falling in a curtain around us as she moves over me?—
“Focus!” I hiss at myself, viciously cutting off the image that rises unbidden to my overactive imagination. Well, at least where women are concerned.
The problem is, my imagination doesn’t stop once I have them naked like that. At that point, I imagine they want more than just sex. Like an actual relationship.
It’s my fatal flaw.
And after a string of disastrous relationships—though I know my friends and teammates would think it’s hilarious to qualify any of my hookups as relationships—I decided over the summer to take a break from women.
The last woman I was with, Jenny, seemed perfect for me. She was gorgeous, wanted to spend all her spare time with me, and was insatiable in the bedroom. Which was awesome, since I met her right as we got knocked out of the playoffs. Suddenly my days were wide open. It was even more perfect because I had a couples’ trip planned with two of my teammates and no one to be my plus one.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, it wasn’t a couples’ trip at all. Nick Abernathy, our captain, brought his wife and kids along, but Troy Easton, our newly retired left wing, didn’t bring anyone. I’m pretty sure they were all kinda pissed at me for bringing Jenny along.
But how was I supposed to know I wasn’t allowed to bring a date?
It worked out okay in the end, though. Troy met Anna and ended up staying in Arcadian Falls, the tiny town where we went onvacation. The point, for Troy at least, was for him to figure out what to do now that he’s not playing hockey anymore.
I’m still not sure why it’s okay for him to start a relationship to fill his spare time, but it’s not okay for me to do the same thing.
Yeah, I know Jenny wasn’t the best choice. Although she seemed great at first, she practically moved in with me as soon as we got back from Arcadian Falls, and after a few more weeks, it came out that she’d been kicked out of her apartment right before our vacation.
Honestly, I could’ve handled that if she’d been honest. But when she started trying to sell my stuff, that’s where I had to draw the line.
The brunette moving in approaches the door, and I get a clear glimpse of her face, her dark almond shaped eyes, plump, kissable lips, anddammit, I shouldn’t be fantasizing about anyone, much less a new neighbor.
And definitely notthisneighbor.
I catch a glimpse of her long, perfect fingernails as her brow furrows, and she juggles the box, trying to pull out a key and a piece of paper—which I assume has the access code written on it—as she approaches the door.
Pushing through the door, I see her face brighten when she sees me, and I force myself to shut this down.
With that hair, those nails, the fact she’s wearing makeup while she’s moving for chrissakes, and to add insult to injury, she’s wearing a boyband T-shirt?
She has prissy princess written all over her. The exact type of woman I need to avoid at all costs.
“Hey!” she says, offering me a friendly smile. “D’you mind holding the door for?—”
Her friendly smile disappears as I pull the door closed.
“Security,” I mumble as I sweep past her.
“Hey!” she shouts, and I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to register her anger. Don’t want to see that pretty face pissed off at me. “Asshole!” I hear her shoe slap against the concrete, and then another loud thunk. “Goddammit! You made me drop my box, you jerk!”
That makes me glance back over my shoulder, but one of the movers is already rushing over to help her, and I hunch my shoulders, keep my head down, and start moving at a slow jog to get me warmed up before picking up the pace.
The weather’s perfect, a gorgeous September day, and I enjoy the sunshine, knowing full well that the rain will take over again soon enough.
I don’t mind the climate here, though. The rainy season’s in the middle of hockey season, so I spend a lot of time on the road anyway. And at least it’s not as brutally cold as it is in Michigan in the winter, where I grew up. Midwestern winters are harsh and seem to last forever, which was perfect for my hockey-loving heart as a kid. We could play on the lake, and then as I got older and it became clear I was serious about hockey, my friends and I spent our free time practicing on the backyard rink my dad got for me.
Basketball was my warm-weather sport, though I didn’t ever get to play more than at the park with friends. Hockey season and basketball season always overlap.
