Page 4 of Double Pucked

“Absolutely, babe. Anything you say. Thank you so much for considering forgiving me. It will never happen again.” With his tail tucked between his lying legs, he leaves.

The second the door shuts, I take a deep breath, let a few tears fall, then say fuck off to my feelings.

I spend the next hour calling reinforcements, devising a plan, packing all my clothes, grabbing my laptop, and snagging my books, candles, lotions and potions.

When I’m done, I yank open my closet for a final check and spot a bag with all the stupid jerseys and pucks I bought for him. No way does he get this now. I don’t want it, but I amnotleaving this behind for him to give to Delilah the hockey fan or to wear himself. I grab the bag, something catching in my throat. I’m crying the whole time, wiping my tears under my glasses with countless wads of tissues. They’re tears of hurt, and they’re tears of rage too.

I gather up all of Nacho’s toys, food, and jackets, telling my darling that we’ll be staying with my friend Aubrey for a few days. He thumps his tail as Aubrey texts that she’s pulling up.

I do one final scan of the bedroom to make sure I took everything, when I spot something white and shiny under his bedside lamp. I walk over, inspecting the black bordered card.

Ohh.

It’s the VIP tickets he won to spend an evening with the star center of the San Francisco Sea Dogs and his crosstown rival, the top defenseman of the California Avengers.

With a wicked smile, I stuff them inside my bra and take off with everything that matters to me and the one thing that matters most to him.

* * *

At Aubrey’s home that night, we devour a pint of ice cream, and half a bottle of wine—fine, it’s a whole bottle. Nacho’s tucked next to me on the couch, a little drowsy still, his snout resting on my thigh. While I stroke his soft head, Aubrey sets down the pint and her spoon decisively.

“Wallow hour is over. Let’s see who you’re going to meet while Jasper cries in the corner.”

The image of him sobbing like a big baby over lost hockey tickets is a beautiful sight, so I grab my phone, then Google the names of the two players I’ll be meeting in two weeks.

And…oh. How about that? They aren’t too shabby.

“Check them out,” I say.

Chase Weston is the golden guy center, all warm brown eyes and panty-melting smile, of the Sea Dogs.

Ryker Samuels is the dark-haired, bearded, and broody-as-sin defenseman on the Avengers.

Aubrey whistles approvingly at their pics. “They’re snacks,” she says, then gives me a naughty look. “You have to wear something ridiculously sexy and take a ton of selfies to make your ex jealous.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

2

SHE LIKES BOTH

Chase

“Oh man. That’s got to hurt,” I say to myself as I climb toward the fiftieth floor.

I’m sweating buckets, and laughing my ass off as I watch a hilarious vet video on my phone. This is a good fucking way to start a good fucking morning, and it’s going to be a great fucking day. My hockey team is playing our crosstown rivals tonight, and my game plan is simple—I’m going to kick their ass.

But first I have to show this video to my bud. I pop my earbuds out and wave a hand in front of the burly dude on the StairMaster next to me. “Samuels,” I bark.

My friend, who’s also the star defenseman for our crosstown rivals, slowly turns his head toward me, arching a brow. The dude could not be any more poker-faced if he tried. As I climb another floor, I motion for him to take out his earbuds, the fucking jackass.

Like I’ve asked him to give me a limb, Ryker takes his sweet time removing one. “Better be a good reason for you to intrude, Weston. I was about to learn the etymology of the word avocado.”

I roll my eyes. “We get it. Your brain is big. You know what they say about that.”

“Yes. There was a study that found the size of a man’s dick is directly proportional to the size of his brain. Ergo…”

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